


I Wanna Be Your Joey Ramone (or, Clarke is a Punk Rocker)

by itsactuallycorrine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A Little Bit of Monty/Miller, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/M, Female Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2841170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsactuallycorrine/pseuds/itsactuallycorrine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his sister told him she had started her own band, Bellamy had assumed she meant a bubblegum pop girl group. </p><p>So the punk rock coming out of his garage is a shock. Almost as much as guitarist Clarke Griffin.</p><p>(Octavia, Raven & Clarke as a punk rock cover band AU because drummer!Raven is my jam and so is Bellarke (and background Monty/Miller))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. side a

**Author's Note:**

> I figured after the angst of my last story, I'd lighten things up a bit. Then this turned into a monster and I seriously don't know what happened. It's bananas.
> 
> And in case you can't tell, I love writing Bellamy and Octavia's relationship, because I, too, am a protective older sibling and that's a big part of why I love Bell so much.
> 
> I obviously do not own the characters or _The 100_
> 
> Title proper comes from the Sleater-Kinney song of the same name (and I couldn't resist the alternate title because, c'mon, The Ramones)
> 
> A playlist with the song inspirations for each track is imminent - as soon as I finish writing & post part 2.

####  _track one_

#####  _invite you back after the show/i'm the queen of rock and roll_

Bellamy groaned as he pulled up to his rented house and noticed the two extra cars parked on the curb. In his rush to get out the door this morning, he'd blindly agreed to whatever Octavia had asked him, only to have it sink in much later what it was he'd allowed.

Apparently his sister was in a band she'd never told him about and apparently that band had lost its only rehearsal space. 

And he, fool that he was, had told Octavia it was okay if they practiced in his garage.

It was the last thing he needed after a morning of classes, followed by an afternoon shift waiting tables at the restaurant. 

But it was O and he was a soft-touch when it came to her and Bellamy knew as he pulled into the driveway that he was in for a night of gritting his teeth as his sister and her bandmates (friends? he wasn't sure; again, she'd never mentioned the fact that she was even  _in_ a band to him) struggled through covers of crappy songs.

So it was a surprise as he climbed out of his car that the music drifting through the walls of the garage was... decent? Maybe even... good?

It definitely wasn't the pop he had been expecting and not anything close to music he'd ever heard his sister play. 

Instead it was rollicking drums and guitar riffs and a woman's voice almost yelling over the top of it. A smokey voice that sent chills up his spine and prickled the hair on the back of his neck as it dropped lower to almost murmur the verse as the guitars and drums both backed off. 

He stood in his driveway, transfixed, staring but seeing nothing, as that raspy voice filled the air again with the chorus, absently noting his sister's voice in the background. 

When the song stopped abruptly, Bellamy jolted, flushing a little when he realized how long he'd been standing there. Shaking himself, he moved towards the front door, resisting the urge to stop again when he heard them restart the chorus.

He needn't have worried, though, because he soon discovered the major downside to having a band practicing in an attached garage: there was no escape from the sound. 

It reverberated throughout the small house, even to the furthest bedroom, which happened to be his anyway, echoing off the hardwood floors, beating into his head. 

By the end of the practice, Bellamy was sure that he'd still be hearing that song in his nightmares. 

Which is why he was annoyed to find himself humming it as he was fixing dinner and Octavia walked in. 

"Hey, big brother!" she said with a wide grin, her skin glistening under the kitchen lights. She walked over to wrap her arm around him and lean into his side. Bellamy opened his mouth to complain about the noise, but she took the wind right out his sails. As always. "Thanks again for letting us practice here. I don't know what we would've done without you."

Bellamy sighed. "Anything for you, O," he said, dropping a kiss to her temple. "Ew, you're all sweaty, get off me." He gave her a playful shove, which she returned immediately before laughing and going to sit at the table.

"Rocking out is hard work," she said with a smug smile, propping her feet on one of the empty chairs. "We're pretty good, aren't we?"

Bellamy made an assenting noise. "And modest, too." He laughed as she stuck her tongue at him and leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed. "You guys surprised me," he admitted. "When you said you were in a band, I wasn't expecting rock."

"Yeah, well." Octavia shrugged and relaxed further in her chair. "That's Clarke's influence. She's, like, a punk encyclopedia and when I started talking about forming a band, she made it her mission to educate me."

"You've never mentioned her - or wanting to start a band - to me before." Bellamy worked to keep the hurt out of his tone, but Octavia winced anyway. 

"Bell," she said on a sigh, "it's... Look, it's not like I was keeping it a secret, but you've been so busy that it kind of... fell through the cracks."

Now it was Bellamy's turn to wince. "Yeah," he said quietly, turning back to stir the vegetables in the saute pan.

"Hey," Octavia called, then she was behind him before he even heard her move, resting her head on his should blades and hugging him. "It's okay for us to have separate lives and not tell each other everything. I know it's been just us for so long, but it's not always going to be, you know? You've got one more full semester of grad school after you're done TA'ing these summer classes and then who knows what will happen?"

He put the lid back on the pan and turned in his sister's hold. "I know, O." He squeezed her back, resting his cheek on top of her head for a brief moment, before pulling back. "Okay, I'm not busy now. Catch me up. Start with this band."

Octavia pulled away with a smile and jumped up on the countertop next to him. "Alright. So you know how the last few years of high school I was saving up for my guitar? And how I was... not very good?"

Bellamy tried to repress the smile, but felt it curl the edges of his lips the tiniest bit. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he deadpanned, making O laugh and kick his leg.

"Smart ass. So after I started first semester, I decided to see if I could trade someone for lessons, like I would cook for them or clean or type papers or whatever. Anyway, Finn - remember him? The dude I had a crush on the first week? - he told me to go see this girl he knew, Clarke, and she would probably be willing to work with me."

"She started giving you lessons then? What'd you trade for them?"

Octavia just shook her head. "She gave me lessons, but it was just from the, I don't know, kindness of her heart, I guess? Which is weird to say about Clarke. Not that she's not kind, but she's... reserved," she settled on after a moment's deliberation. "At first I thought she was a stuck-up princess and I didn't understand how she and Finn could be..." Her voice trailed off and she looked uncomfortable for a moment, then seemed to shake it off. "But yeah, she started giving me lessons and loosening up around me a bit and then once I started getting better, I mentioned about starting a band, and that started a whole  _other_ kind of lesson."

Turning back to check on dinner, Bellamy asked with studied casualness, "So she's the other guitarist and singer then?" 

"Yep," Octavia answered happily, not seeming to pick up on his tension, much to his relief. "She sings most of the time, unless there's a complicated guitar part, then I'll take over so she can concentrate on that. Raven - she's the drummer - she only takes lead vocals on one song, and then there's one song we've been practicing where we each sing a verse."

His mind fixated on one point:  _Clarke;_   _the girl with the sexy, raspy voice was named Clarke_. He shook it off. "And how'd Raven enter the picture?"

Octavia was quiet for a long moment, long enough that Bellamy turned back to her. "That's, uh... that's a long story and not really mine to tell," she said slowly. "Sorry." She frowned at him, obviously troubled about something.

"No worries, O," he soothed, touching her arm briefly. "So no guys, then? That's a relief."

Octavia rolled her eyes at him, regaining her lighthearted air. "No dudes in the band and we only perform music of mostly-female bands. Those are the only two rules."

"Grab some plates, you golden goddess of rock," he teased. "Dinner's done. What's your band's name?"

"The Kat Stratfords."

Bellamy paused in pulling the pan off the stove, searching his memory for that name. "Okay, I give up." He looked up to find O smirking at him. "What's the reference?"

"Duh, Bellamy, only one of the greatest movies of all time,  _10 Things I Hate About You_. That's the name of the main character, who likes - and I quote - 'angry girl music of the indie rock persuasion'."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

####  _track two_

#####  _you got to be a drag, babe/like all the other guys_

He managed two full weeks of avoiding Octavia's band, much to her annoyance. Ever since the night she'd spent telling him all about them over dinner, she'd been pressuring him to meet the other girls and Bellamy always had some excuse.

"This is dumb!" she'd finally exploded the previous night, busting into his room just as he had started to doze off. He'd thrown a pillow at her, but she'd been undeterred. "You wanted to know more about my life, to be included, and now you're shutting me out! Bell, this is important to me."

She couldn't have come up with a better way to shame him, he'd thought, sitting up in his bed to really look at her. 

"O, it's not..." he'd started, but trailed off. How could he tell her the truth, tell her that he was a coward, that he was still shaken up by  _that voice_ , that no good could come out of him meeting this Clarke who he'd never even seen but who had already started haunting his dreams? So he'd lamely finished, "I'll be there tomorrow," instead.

And so, here he was, standing outside the door that separated house from garage, listening to the band with his hand on the knob, listening to  _her_ singing, feeling his stomach clench.  _This isn't going to go the way you hope_ , he tried to tell himself.  _You've built it up so much, there's no way that it can. Just pull the band-aid off._

He exhaled and turned the knob, walking into the doorway right as Clarke, because the blonde wielding the guitar could only be her, broke in the middle of a line with a frustrated huff. "Raven, you're still rushing that part. Keep the damn tempo!"

"Screw you, Clarke!" came the heated reply and Bellamy looked over to the drummer, who was scowling and reaching for her water bottle. Her long, dark ponytail swung with every angry movement. "I'm like a damn metronome. Maybe it's the two of you that are lagging!"

"Octavia, back me up on this," came the reply and Bellamy turned to his sister the same time the others did. "It feels rushed to you, doesn't it?"

O shifted nervously and Bellamy knew it was because of the subtext of the question, something that seemed to say,  _agree with me or I will be so disappointed in you_. But his sister was never one to back down and she squared her shoulders and looked back at Clarke. "I agree with Raven. I think we're both struggling with the chord progression and falling off-tempo."

By the mulish cast to her expression, it was clear that Clarke still wanted to argue her point. And it certainly didn't help when Bellamy lost all control of his mental faculties and opened his damn mouth.

"I agree with them."

All three women glanced his way, but it was the blue-grey eyes flashing frustrated anger that drew him in. "Stay out of this," she ordered with a dismissive hand gesture, her husky voice cracking like a whip. "This is band business."

Bellamy tried not to get his back up - he didn't try _hard..._ an effort was made and, whoops, he failed. Crossing his arms, he rocked back on his heels. "Yeah, well, this is my garage and that means I can say what I want."

That got her to look at him for longer than a glance. Those cool eyes settled on him again and he could see her taking his measure. He returned the favor, surveying her long, wavy blonde hair and white muscle tank and ripped jeans. She'd slipped her guitar behind her back and the strap was bisecting her torso, right across her chest, but Bellamy didn't let his eyes linger too long. 

All in all, she was  _gorgeous_ and talented and... pissed as hell, he realized as he looked back at her face. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line and she was practically vibrating with dislike. In defensive mode, he felt his face fall right into his natural smirk as she glared at him. 

Someone cleared their throat and Bellamy looked over, jolting a bit as he remembered they weren't alone.

Octavia and Raven were standing next to each other staring at them with ill-concealed amusement. 

"Guys," Octavia started, motioning Bellamy over, "this is my brother Bellamy, who has  _graciously_ ," this was said with a laughing glance up at him, "allowed us to practice in his garage. Bell, this is Clarke and Raven."

Raven jerked her chin up in acknowledgement which Bellamy returned, before turning back to Clarke.

Who bared her teeth at him and gritted out, "Charmed, I'm sure," before turning around and swinging her guitar back around her body. "Let's start over."

He caught Raven rolling her eyes before she went back to her kit. Octavia bit her lip then looked up at him, face apologetic.

But Bellamy wasn't one to back down either. "I'll just sit over here," he said, gesturing over to his work bench. "Observing."

"Quietly, I hope," he heard Clarke mutter before she told Raven to count it down and they jumped back into the song.

From his perch on the side of the room, Bellamy was able to get the full effect of the group: Raven's almost manic energy, Octavia's exuberant confidence, and Clarke's calm control that didn't quite hide the seething anger. 

It was the latter that drew him in and made him wonder. He wasn't vain enough to think it was all because of him - he'd noticed it in her voice before, on that very first day - and he wondered about her, what her story was. Octavia hadn't really said much about either girl's personal history, beyond what led to them all forming the band, and it was a puzzle that was nagging Bellamy now. 

Mostly because Clarke didn't  _look_ like a punk rocker. She looked like a WASP princess slumming it on the wrong side of the tracks and no amount of torn denim was going to hide that.

Her voice, though, that was another story. If Bellamy closed his eyes, he could easily imagine her in a dark smoky bar, rocking out to a few hundred kids. 

Right now, that voice was pulsing with determination, with the ever-present anger, and Bellamy was being drawn in by her, picking up the honesty behind her performance, and he knew that the words held meaning for her as she sang, " _I didn't cry_ " over and over with Octavia and Raven backing her up, nailing the instrumental piece this time.  _  
_

After the song trailed off, there was a beat of silence, before Raven said, "I told you it was you two lagging, not me rushing the beat."

They all held their breaths, before Clarke cracked the smallest of smiles and said fondly, "Fuck off, Reyes. Let's play it again."

And Bellamy knew he should move, go back in the house, but he hesitated. He wanted to sit there and watch her and listen to her and wait to see if that smile came back around, maybe stuck this time.

So he forced himself to go, but not before feeling the weight of her gaze on him as she started the opening chords of the song again. 

He turned at the door, just in time to see her look down at the guitar in her hands, and he couldn't suppress the smug smile, knowing he wasn't the only one affected.

 

 

 

 

 

 

####  _track three_

#####  _long and lean, rock and roll machine/i just wanna get with you_

He should've known it was only a matter of time before his sister's bandmates started making themselves at home in his house.

And yet, the first time he arrived to find Raven stretched out face-down on his couch while Octavia and Clarke danced around the kitchen, singing to each other and making dinner, it was no less of a shock.

It was about three weeks after the first time he dropped by one of their practices, an act he had yet to repeat, despite Octavia's numerous invitations. Bellamy hadn't seen Clarke since that day, although she hadn't been far from his thoughts. 

His interaction with her hadn't been far from Octavia's thoughts, either, if the number of times she'd badgered him about it is any indication. "I can't believe you provoked her like that!" she'd admonished him later that night, although a laugh was tugging at her lips. "It was like watching a pit bull square off with a beagle!"

And he'd almost chuckled in satisfaction, until he'd picked up on the amused apology in her shining blue eyes. "Wait, am I the  _beagle_ in this scenario?!" he'd asked incredulously. "That's crazy, O. If anyone compared me to  _Clarke_ , I would clearly be the pit bull!"

She'd giggled at him, the nerve, and shook her head. "I don't know, big brother," she'd teased in a sing-song voice, "Clarke can be pretty badass. Don't underestimate her."

That conversation came through his memory loud and clear as he stood in his entryway, watching this so-called badass attempt to moonwalk across the kitchen, causing Octavia to collapse into big, rolling belly laughs that left tears running down her face.

"Oh, my God!" came from the couch, as did the shoe that flew through the air to thunk into the wall just to the right of the kitchen doorway. "Shut the hell up, you loons."

It caused Clarke and Octavia to turn and that was when both of them finally saw him. 

"Bell!" Octavia waved happily, while Clarke slowly slunk away, her face growing redder by the second. 

"Hi, honeys, I'm home!" he answered with a smirk, dropping his bag from school on the floor and removing the tie he'd already loosened in the car after his shift waiting tables. "What's for dinner?"

Clarke mumbled something that he couldn't hear, but judging from the sharp elbow O aimed her way, he guessed it probably wasn't complimentary.

"We were craving breakfast food, so it's pancakes and bacon tonight," Octavia answered. "Did you eat at work or do you want us to throw a couple on the griddle for you?"

"Pancakes sound great, O. I'm going to go change." He started to head down the hallway, only to turn back as he remembered something. "And the guys are coming over tonight."

This announcement finally caused Raven to perk up on the couch. "Boys?" she asked with a sly curl to her mouth.

"Don't bother, Raven," Octavia sighed. "Two are dating each other and the other one totally isn't your type."

Raven huffed and crossed her arms. "I don't have  _a type_ ," she bit out, throwing a scowl towards the kitchen.

"Don't make me name names," Clarke said placidly, though Bellamy saw that small smile threatening again.

"Shut up, Griffin," was the smart rejoinder and all three girls laughed.

Rolling his eyes, he headed back to his bedroom, although he couldn't help but be glad for O's sake that she'd found such close friends. She'd gone through too much too young and because of that, had a hard time making a lasting connection to anyone. He would have been in the same boat if not for the indomitable spirits of his friends, who'd basically followed him around until he gave in and returned their friendship.

When O called him for dinner, Bellamy was half-way back down the hall, pulling on a black t-shirt, but apparently not fast enough as he looked up to see both Clarke and Raven eyeing him with appreciation.

Octavia made a disgusted noise and dropped the plate of pancakes on the table, jarring the other three. "Please do not look at my brother like that while I'm in the room," she said. "It is scarring to my innocent eyes."

Raven just snorted as she moved to the table and Clarke rolled her eyes. 

"Should I be worried about the skepticism that statement evokes?" Bellamy asked his sister, dropping into his chair and grabbing three of the freshest pancakes off the top of the stack. 

O batted her eyes at him, causing the other two girls to snicker and Bellamy decided that was probably a line of questioning he should table for now. He didn't want an audience if his sister was going to give him a heart attack.

If asked even a day before, Bellamy would've said that dinner should have been a lot more awkward, considering how little he knew the other two girls, but it felt natural, comfortable. The camaraderie between the three of them put Bellamy at ease and he had no problem sitting back and watching as they teased each other.

Raven was telling some story about a TA when she was overcome by a jaw-popping yawn that made her eyes water. Octavia immediately jumped up to start a pot of coffee. "Sorry, guys," Raven said with a shrug and was waved off. She looked at Bellamy. "I've been up most nights cramming for one of my summer courses and it's starting to catch up to me."

"What're you studying?"

"Aerospace engineering," she answered with a completely straight face, causing Bellamy's jaw to drop as he looked from Octavia to Clarke to see if this was a joke. 

But Clarke was looking at Raven with pride. "Our little rocket scientist," she murmured, causing Raven to wrinkle her nose, even while trying to hide a grin. It was clear how much Clarke's admiration meant to her.

"So, princess," Bellamy said with a grin, which grew when Clarke scowled at him, "how about you? What're you in for?"

"Don't call me that, I have a name," she ordered first, then hesitated. "It's... complicated. But technically I'm pre-med."

"Clarke's an artist," Octavia corrected as she dropped back into her chair. "She thinks she wants to be a doctor, because that's what her mother has pushed her to be all her life. But-"

"Octavia," Clarke interrupted sharply, shaking her head. Octavia's eyes flashed once, mutinously, but she backed down and nodded her apology.

Bellamy sent his sister a questioning look and when he was met with just a shrug, he decided to lighten the mood. "So none of you are planning on doing the music thing full time? Because I have to say: you guys are pretty good."

As expected, all three women relaxed at that, Raven even going so far as to give him a confident smirk. "Hell, yeah, we are," she agreed as the front door was opened. "We're awesome."

In the entry way, Jasper snorted. "Uh, I think we'll be the judge of that," he declared, shrinking a bit as the force of both Raven and Clarke's glares hit him. "Oh, wow. Okay, I give up, you're awesome, you're awesome!" He pried off his shoes and dropped them on the floor, jumping on the couch and kneeling to look at them over the back as Monty and Miller followed more sedately. "And you're strangers."

Bellamy chuckled and welcomed his friends into the house. "Uh, okay, Raven, Clarke," he said pointing at each one in turn, "Jasper, Monty, Miller."

"What one's single?" Raven asked boldly, eyeing all three guys. When Jasper raised his hand, she sighed and turned to Octavia to begrudgingly say, "You were right," which caused the girls and Bellamy to laugh and the other boys to look around in bemusement.

"I feel like I should be insulted," Jasper said, sounding nothing of the kind, just looking on with interest. "Are you the band?"

Clarke was still smiling a bit, the longest Bellamy had ever seen her hold it. "Yeah, I play guitar and Raven is drums."

"That is..." Jasper shook his head, looking overwhelmed. "That is unbelievably hot. Isn't that hot?" he turned to ask his friends, then just shook his head at them before they could answer. "Wrong crowd. Bellamy, isn't that hot?"

Bellamy ran his tongue over his teeth and met Clarke's stare, which seemed to dare him to contradict Jasper. Instead he smirked and said, "You should see them play," while still looking at her.

That caused Monty to perk up. "Could we? I mean, I know you've probably already practiced today, but I'd really love to hear you guys."

Clarke broke their held gaze and surveyed the other two women, shrugging. "We could play a few songs," she answered, causing Jasper and Monty to cheer and even making Miller smile a little (though whether that was because of the band playing or Monty's excitement, Bellamy wasn't sure.)

In the garage, while the girls were turning on the amps and getting set up, Jasper and Monty arranged themselves on the concrete floor, leaving Bellamy alone with Miller on the workbench.

"You okay, man?" Miller asked, voice as grave as always. Sometimes Bellamy didn't understand how serious Nathan Miller ended up with someone like Monty, but he was glad for both of his friends; they complemented each other. 

"Yeah, why?" Bellamy pulled his eyes from the girls (Clarke) to look at Miller, who was watching him pensively.

"You're distracted and kind of freaking me out by how much you're watching her." 

Bellamy considered playing dumb for a second, but sighed in defeat instead. "There's just something about her," he murmured, striving to keep his voice down. "It's like I can't help it, can't control it. Every time we're in the same room together, two things happen: we fight and I can't stop looking at her."

"Hey," Miller said, "if she's important to O, it's probably best not to go there. Not unless you're serious about it."

"Serious," Bellamy scoffed, looking away, glancing anywhere but at _her_. "When have you ever known me to be serious about someone?"

"That's the point." Miller's voice was mild, but Bellamy heard the underlying censure in it. "Just... proceed with caution, man," he finished as Raven started drumming the beat.

The girls ripped into a song he'd never heard them perform before, but one they'd obviously been working hard at, with Octavia taking the lead vocals this time, rarely touching her guitar and letting Clarke do the heavy work.

And work she did. Bellamy was transfixed by the way Clarke's arms flexed with each strum, her lean muscles tensing, skin taut as she leaned in towards Octavia during the chorus to back her up vocally, blonde hair dancing in front of the guitar as she rocked with the beat.

It wasn't until the song had finished and Raven's cymbals stopped ringing throughout the room that Bellamy realized what a creep he was being.

Luckily Jasper Jordan was there to out-creep him. "Oh, my god," the boy was moaning as he rolled dramatically all over the floor, bumping off Monty and rolling back the other direction, "OH MY GOD, that was SO HOT! How can you guys even stand it?!?!"

Clarke rolled her eyes with amused exasperation and Raven threatened to stab Jasper with a drumstick as Bellamy quietly chuckled at his friend's antics. Then he happened to glance over at Miller.

Who was watching him, with a very surprised expression that melted into a smug smile.

Bellamy tried to ignore the heat climbing up his neck as the girls seamlessly rolled into another song.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

####  _track four_

#####  _will i see you tonight/when i open up my heart_

Clarke and Raven became mainstays in his household following that night and Bellamy grew used to coming home to either find the girls hanging out in his living room or any combination of his own friends sitting in on band practice.

In fact, they'd all grown so comfortable with each other, it was kind of a shock the day he walked through the connecting door into the garage and Clarke was right there, guitar case in hand, jerking herself just short of running into him, and greeted him with a biting, "Get the hell out of my way, Bellamy."

Taken aback, Bellamy glanced around the room to find Jasper all but cowering against the wall, Raven glaring at Clarke in annoyance, and Octavia concentrating hard on her guitar, her brow furrowed in concern. 

The always-present protective part of him unfurled immediately when he saw how unsettled everyone was, but Bellamy managed to keep his tone mild. "Anyone want to explain what I'm walking into here?"

"Uh, yeah, it's easy: Clarke's being a bitch," Raven said darkly, twirling a drumstick in quick, violent circles. 

Bellamy was the only one who could see Clarke's instinctive flinch and the flicker of hurt in her stormy eyes before they went flat. She glared up at him sullenly and he could read the expectation in her expression, one that said  _I know you're on their side; get it over with._

Instead, he raised a hand to her arm, feeling how tense she was already, feeling her tense further at his touch. He pulled back, fist curling uselessly at his side. "What's wrong?" he murmured to her.

She looked aside, jaw working, before she turned back to him. "Please move." And though her tone was an order, ground between gritted teeth, he clearly saw the plea on her face and he stepped aside, letting her brush past him.

The front door slammed a minute later. 

"Okay, what the hell just happened?" he demanded, looking around the room. 

Raven stood up, tucking her sticks in the back pocket of her jeans and shrugging into a red leather jacket, despite the late July heat. "Apparently the bitch gene is hereditary and it does  _not_ skip a generation in the Griffin family. Jesus, you try to be a honest with someone and they bite your fucking head off!"

"Raven," Octavia said with a sigh, "you know how complicated things between Abby and Clarke are. You shouldn't push."

"She needs a fucking push sometimes!" Raven yelled, kicking her stool over. "She's going to waste her entire goddamn life trying to live up to her mother's impossible expectations and then beat herself up for not achieving them or not achieving them fast enough or something stupid like that. All while she's fucking  _miserable_ because she's not living her own life! And I just can't-" Her voice broke a little and Bellamy saw the tremble in her chin from across the garage, before she firmed it resolutely. "She deserves more," she finished quietly, shrugging helplessly before leaving.

Jasper cleared his throat from his spot on the floor and clumsily stood. "Well, that was... intense. I think I'm going to go home and call my mom and tell her thanks for, well, for not doing that to me."

Octavia walked him out and Bellamy stayed in the garage, staring helplessly and thinking about Clarke for far too long.

Two hours later, after Octavia was uncharacteristically silent all throughout dinner, Bellamy heard her quietly strumming her unplugged guitar in her room, playing something slow and sad. His heart squeezed in his chest for her.

 _Not just for her_ , his subconscious whispered, but he beat it back, relieved when a text notification came through to distract him from those kinds of thoughts.

Not that it ended up being much of a distraction. It was from Monty: " _at bar and clarke is here alone pounding shots like its her job"._

And he wanted to pretend, to ask, "Why are you texting me and not O?" but instead he just replied, _"address?"_ and slipped his shoes on, calling out to Octavia that he was going out.

When he walked in, he saw her immediately, golden head resting in her hand, propped up by an elbow on the bar, a line of shot glasses in front of her. He frowned, but hesitated to walk straight over, scanning the room for Monty. He found him in a booth along the back wall, arms waving madly above his head, while Miller tried not to smile at his boyfriend's antics.

With one last glance at Clarke, he made his way over to his friends, taking the chair that faced the table and flagging down a passing waitress to order a beer. Once she was gone, he turned to his friends without a greeting. "How long has she been here?"

"We just walked in about 35 minutes ago and noticed her there shortly after that with at least three empties in front of her," Miller answered, thumb absently peeling the corner on the label on his beer. 

Monty nodded. "I was going to walk over and say hi, but she really didn't look like she wanted company, especially after we saw- Oh, look!" he said, staring over Bellamy's shoulder and elbowing Miller in the side. "It's gonna happen again! Watch this, Bell."

Bellamy obligingly turned in his seat to see what was going on and saw some dudebro fratboy in a backwards hat approaching Clarke, who didn't even bother to lift her head from her palm, just tilted it in order to look at the kid's face. Bellamy immediately moved to stand but stilled when Monty hissed at him, "No! Wait and see!"

The kid was obviously talking to Clarke, smug charming grin in place, and Bellamy had never wanted to punch someone more. Well, that wasn't necessarily true. There was that kid Atom that he caught O making out with her sophomore year of high school, but this was a very close second. 

Clarke wasn't speaking to the kid, just watching him, and even from across the room, Bellamy could see his ego slowly deflate and turn to anger. Finally Clarke stirred herself enough to lift her head and lean towards the kid, and Bellamy felt his stomach sink with something hot and heavy and wholly unfamiliar. 

Until, that is, she opened her mouth and the kid's face went white as a sheet and he turned on his heel and ran back to his friends.

Bellamy could feel his mouth hanging open a bit and turned back, where Monty was laughing uproariously, collapsed against Miller's shoulder, and Miller was grinning widely. "What the hell did she say to him?" Bellamy asked in amazement, only to be met with shrugs.

"No clue," Miller was finally able to say over Monty's laughter, "but that's the fourth guy she's sent running. You'd think after a while every dude in here would start to get the drift."

The waitress finally made it back with Bellamy's beer and a fresh whiskey for Monty, and Bellamy climbed to his feet. "Promise me something?" he asked his friends solemnly, rewarded when they both nodded without hesitation. "If she sends me running, we never speak of this again?"

Miller snorted while Monty chuckled darkly. "Oh, the havoc I could wreak with that!" he crowed. "But... out of solidarity and the fellowship of man and brotherly love and all that other crap, I guess I can let it go."

"You're an angel, Monty Green," Bellamy said with a smirk, before turning in Clarke's direction.

He stood behind her for a moment, bracing himself, before moving onto the empty stool next to her and resting his bottle on the bar. "Of all the gin joints..." he started, repressing a smile when he saw her eyes clearly roll and her mouth tighten in impatience, before she pivoted her neck and saw it was him.

But if he was expecting surprise, he was doomed to disappointment. She just sighed and turned back to stare aimlessly over the bar. "I wondered how long it would take Monty and Miller to rat me out to someone or come over themselves."

Bellamy hummed in amusement, then leaned forward into her space a bit. "Maybe they were too afraid that you were going say whatever horrible thing you're telling all these eligible bachelors to scare them away."

A proud smirk curled the very edges of her lips and she turned bleary eyes on him, lifting her head off her palm an inch. "Do you want to know?" she asked, sly smile curling her lips.

That look was killing him. He'd seen her be playful with Raven and O, even Jasper and Monty a time or two, but she was very careful to keep her distance from him, not to engage in his teasing, unless he said something that provoked anger. And as much as he craved it, he resented that she'd had to drink five - no, six - shots to do so. 

But curiosity was killing him, so he nodded, thrilled when she sat all the way up and leaned into him, just like she had with the last guy. 

"First I make them wait a little, for the rejection to take root," she said, full-out grinning now.

"You're a cold woman, princess," he said with a chuckle, but she just waved him quiet.

"Then I tell them that I am a pre-med student with a set of scalpels at home and I know exactly where to cut on the male genitalia to cause pain as well as where to cut to make sure they're impotent for the rest of their lives."

And though she wasn't saying it  _to_ him, as a rejection, he still felt the blood leave his face as he involuntarily cringed in empathy. "Jesus, Clarke," he managed with an amazed shake of his head, meeting her dancing eyes. "O was right: it would be very dangerous to underestimate you."

She seemed surprised. "Octavia said that about me?" she asked.

He grinned at the memory. "After the first time we met. Told me you were a badass." He slid her a considering look. "Can't say I disagree after getting to know you better."

"Wow," she whispered with a light blush. 

"She cares about you a lot. They both do." When she glared at him, he held his hands up. "I'm not getting in the middle. I'm just saying... people who are willing to fight you because they want what's best for you? Those are the good kind of people to have in your life."

She deflated a little, crossing her arms on the bar and resting her chin on top. "Everything's so hard," she said quietly, so quietly that Bellamy had to lean in to hear, and the smell of tequila and her shampoo hit him at once, and his stomach tightened again, this time in pleasure. But he pushed that away and focused on what she was saying. "With my mom and school and Fin..." Then she jerked upright, almost knocking into him, and grimaced. "But you don't care about that."

"Hey." He waited until she looked at him. "I care." When she just stared at him dubiously, he moved his hand to her shoulder, fingers resting gently, a heady sensation rolling through him, washing over him, fogging up his thoughts. "I, uh, I care, Clarke," he stuttered out, dropping his hand, hoping like hell that his confusion wasn't reflected on his face.

If it was, she obviously missed it as she smiled shyly at him. "I'm really glad I met your sister, Bellamy Blake," she confessed and, although he knew it was mostly the tequila talking, Bellamy couldn't help the joy that suffused him.

"Me, too, princess," he said gruffly, and ordered her a coffee to sober her up a bit before he offered to take her home.

And if she fell asleep on the drive and he sat idling in front of her building for a few minutes before waking her up, wrestling with the need to watch her sleep, well...

No one but him would ever know.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

####  _track five_

#####  _i have a wicked heart because of you/now hate is all that i can do_

Although some occasional awkwardness remained - "You three were all at the bar?  _Without me?_ "  "Jasper, it's not like we made plans to do it! It just happened." - it was back to business as usual within a couple days. 

It was a rare Friday that he actually had off from the restaurant, his boss taking pity on him since he was scheduled to work a wedding the next day, and Bellamy was enjoying it by sitting in on the girls' practice, offering his unsolicited opinions as they tried to put together a handful of songs for an audition that Monty had arranged.

"Don't you have somewhere else you could be on a Friday night?" Clarke grouched at him as he disagreed with her yet again.

"And miss this?" he asked, smirking at her. "I wouldn't dream of it. What would you do without your wise manager, after all?"

Octavia groaned while Raven tapped out a rimshot, quickly dampening the cymbal as Clarke turned her glare that way.

"For the last time, I did  _not_  agree to that!"

He laughed at her frustration. "But, after all that tequila, could you swear in a court of law that you didn't?"

Clarke set her jaw. "Even if I  _had_ \- and notice that I am not admitting to anything - it would be under duress and therefore not legally binding."

"Fine!" Bellamy pretended to be put out, slumping against the wall above the workbench and crossing his arms. "But when this whole operation collapses, don't try to pin it on my brief and shining administration."

That finally dragged a laugh out of her as she shook her head. "Oh, my god, how are you  _such_ an ass?!"

"Years of dedicated practice," Octavia answered dryly, then gestured around the room. "So are we actually going to practice this or not? I still don't think it should be me singing it. Don't," she said at once, pointing a finger at him without even looking that way, since his agreement with that sentiment had caused the previous diversion.

"I'm out," Raven said. "My part is already so wild and fast and crazy, there's no way I could keep the lyrics straight, too. I have a hard enough time with the one-and-a-third songs I already sing."

"Yeah, and I thought you said you couldn't handle the guitar part, O?" Clarke said. "I can't do both, not on this one, so you'll have to take vocals."

"But I'm not..." Octavia sighed as she clearly struggled with her words.

"O's not angry enough," Bellamy supplied, relieved when Octavia just nodded along. "She has some experience to call on to supply it, but she doesn't have Raven's hot temper or your ice-cold seething rage, princess."

" _'Ice-cold seething rage'_ ," Clarke quoted flatly. "That's a new one." 

Bellamy's heart plummeted in dread at her tone, only to swell up immediately when her lips quirked into a small smile. He found one hand halfway to his chest to try to hold the damn thing still and diverted his palm to the side of his neck to give a halfhearted rub instead.

"But still," Clarke continued, "either we scrap the song or we find a way to transfer some of our anger to you, Octavia."

Raven snorted. "It shouldn't be hard. You know the whole story. Just pretend you were one of us and, you know, let it all hang out."

"Okay, but that's probably easier said than done, because I've never been in that kind of position before!" 

Bellamy was beyond confused. "I feel like you guys are talking in code. What's this about?"

Both Clarke and Raven looked at Octavia in shock, but she just shrugged. "Wasn't my story to tell."

Clarke sighed. "It's the classic story of boy meets girl, girl is cautious, boy woos girl, girl sleeps with boy-"

"Boy's girlfriend from home surprises him by transferring to the same school," Raven finished grimly. 

The light bulb went on over Bellamy's head. "Finn," he said, remembering Clarke's list of complaints from the bar.

O nodded with a grimace. "And that's how we all met: Finn gave me Clarke's info, and then when Raven showed up and both of them figured out what had happened..."

"We kicked his ass to the curb." Raven had a smirk on her face, but Bellamy could see the nasty edge of it from across the room. 

"And became friends," Clarke added, "and after Raven said she played drums, it all just fell into place."

"Well," Bellamy said lightly after a beat of silence, "that guy is clearly a fucking moron."

Octavia grinned proudly at him while Raven muttered, "No shit, Sherlock," but he saw the pleased smile she was trying to repress.

Clarke just stared at him quietly, her eyes gentle, the cold grey melting into pools of blue, pink lips soft and parted just slightly, as if she was a little shocked he'd say such a thing. 

Bellamy held her gaze and couldn't stop the litany of thoughts that ran through his head, thoughts like  _I would never do that to you_ and  _you deserve so much more_ and  _I could make you happy_ and _I'd work every day to make you forget that anyone was ever dumb enough to hurt you_. _  
_

Her brows furrowed in confusion and Clarke broke the charged atmosphere by blinking, lashes fluttering closed for just a second before she looked at him again.

When she cocked her head, as if she was trying to figure him out, Bellamy cleared his throat and glanced over to Raven and Octavia, who were involved in their own discussion about the song. "Well, at least that explains this song choice, then."

"It's not all about Finn, though," Raven said with a wave of her hand. "I mean, it started that way, but it's a tribute now. To how Clarke and I bonded."

Clarke was nodding when he risked a glance her way. "Believe it or not," she said dryly, "sharing the same boyfriend doesn't really make for great small talk, so we didn't get to know each other until a week later."

"I didn't know anyone - besides Finn - on campus, so I took to hanging out in the library, burying myself in schoolwork and just jamming out on my iPod." Raven twirled one of her drumsticks, then absently beat out a quick staccato rhythm on the snare. "And in walks Clarke Griffin, the girl who stole my man." But it was said with an amused smirk, not maliciously.

Clarke grinned back. "And Raven jerked to hide so quick that she unplugged her earbuds from her iPod and somehow hit play at the same time, so  _this song_ starts playing  - at almost full volume, mind you - in the library-"

"I had been listening to it on repeat since The Incident," Raven confided, rolling her eyes at her past melodrama. "Nursing my anger."

"And I walked over," Clarke continued without missing a beat, "and sat down and said, 'The Devotchkas? I literally only know one other person who even knows who they are and that's only because I forced it on them.' And she said-"

"'I guess we have a similar taste in a lot of things'. And then we started laughing until people yelled at us to leave. So we did." 

"And we grabbed some dinner and I found out she played drums-"

"And she told me about this promising young guitar player," Raven said with a grin Octavia's way. "So I told Clarke to call her and invite her to join us and here we are, a year and a half later."

Bellamy shook his head in amazement, but when wondered aloud, "And what happened to Finn?"

Clarke looked to Raven, who shrugged and looked at Octavia, who shook her head at Clarke, who finally answered, "Who cares? Let's just play."

And he sat back and listened, because that was enough of an answer for him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

####  _track six_

#####  _i feel hot, i feel cold/i'd tell you why but i'm not that bold_

The next night, Bellamy came home shortly after 2, cursing the entire institution of marriage and the wedding planning industry and especially the drunk, handsy bridesmaid who had grossly objectified him all night long. Bellamy was a waiter and he was good at his job and if a customer flirted with him, he was usually pretty game, for the tips if nothing else. But there was a line and it never failed that someone at a wedding was ready and willing to cross that line.

And he'd done enough weddings that he knew all the subtle tricks, the rebuffs, the diversions. 

He'd tried them all tonight and they'd all failed and he'd barely escaped with his dignity. 

Now he just wanted a shower and to crash in his bed and sleep for the next day or so.

Or at least, that's what he thought, until he pulled up to his house and saw Clarke's dark blue Lexus sitting there. 

Anticipation coursed through him, along with a wave of adrenaline that sharpened his senses and perked him back up. 

Maybe this wouldn't be such a bad night after all.

After putting the car in park, he sat there for a moment, wrestling with himself, then gave in and leaned to look in the rearview mirror.

Running a hand through his hair, he scowled at the messy curls that had finally broken free of the gel he'd tamed them with at the beginning of the night. He gave up when nothing he did seemed to make any difference and tried to tell himself that it didn't matter.

It didn't work.

The house was dark when he walked in, except for the flickering of the TV in the living room where Octavia and Clarke were sitting at opposite ends of the couch, legs twined together in the middle. Each one was wearing what was clearly their pajamas - thin tanktops and sleep shorts - and Bellamy felt a thrill at all of the pale, soft skin Clarke was displaying. No matter the heat, he'd never seen her in anything other than jeans and he felt like a Victorian man catching a glimpse of a lady's ankle.

Shaking his head at the stupid thought, he made his presence known with a soft, "Hey," which made Clarke jump a little and look up from whatever was on her lap, but O just smiled at him.

"Hey, big brother," she said sleepily, then patted the couch. "Come join us. We're having a movie night."

He glanced at Clarke, to make sure she wasn't uncomfortable with the offer and she shrugged at him and moved to sit up as O did the same. "No Raven tonight?" he asked, walking over to sit on the middle cushion that they'd cleared for him.

"She had a _date_." Octavia grinned, wiggling her shoulders in a little dance. "With a TA she met last semester. He's been working up to this for  _months_ and she took pity on him."

Bellamy arched an eyebrow and snorted. "I'm not surprised it took him that long. She can be... intimidating." He glanced over at Clarke, to find her watching him carefully, her face pensive, arms curled tightly around her legs in front of her. He smirked her way. "What about you, princess? No date for you?"

She rolled her eyes at him with a small smile. "The only thing besides practice on my schedule is a dinner thing with my mom next Friday."

"Out of choice or...?" Bellamy trailed off, unable to leave that alone without probing further. He couldn't imagine that anyone as smart and attractive as Clarke didn't have guys asking her out all the time.

"Somewhat," she said. "I don't know, after everything that happened with Finn, I'm a lot more careful. I want to get to know a guy before I go out with him and I'm finding a lot of guys aren't willing to put in that effort." She shrugged at him and her smile took a wry twist. "I guess that's what dating's supposed to be about - you learn more about a person with each subsequent date - but I don't want to get burned again."

Bellamy nodded in understanding and opened his mouth to respond, when his sister suddenly kicked him in the thigh. "Ow! What the hell, O?" _  
_

"My question exactly, Bellamy Blake!" she said sternly, sitting up further and dropping her legs to the floor so she could pull his white shirt collar down. "Why do you have lipstick on your neck, young man? You were supposed to be working!" 

He glanced at her incredulously, slapping a hand to the offending mark, even though he could clearly see the mirth in her eyes. "Shit! Okay, it's not what it looks like," he began over O's laughter. He shot a desperate look at Clarke, who wasn't laughing but was instead looking at him patiently, curiously, waiting for his explanation. "One of the bridesmaids came without a date and apparently the single guy offerings at the wedding were not to her liking and she got a little aggressive and-"

"You slept with her in the coatroom?" Octavia guessed, giggling at his outraged expression.

"No!" he cried, leaping to his feet. "I didn't sleep with her." He looked to Clarke beseechingly. "She was all over me and I was trying not to piss her off. But as soon as she tried to kiss me, I got firm with her and sent her on her way." He rubbed hard at his skin, gratified by the red smudge when he pulled his fingers away. "I guess I didn't move fast enough to keep her from marking me."

"Awwww," Octavia cooed more sincerely. "I'm sorry, Bell, I thought it was consensual. I wouldn't have teased you otherwise." She stood and wrapped her arms around his waist and he dropped a cheek to her head, returning her squeeze. "Go shower and change and then you can come back out and join us."

"All right," he said as he pulled away, then turned back to look at them solemnly at the mouth of the hallway. "Just promise me that you won't braid each other's hair without me."

Clarke chuckled, but O just nodded. "Of course not, Bell, you're the best braider out of all three of us."

Of course, after he'd showered and changed into a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, Clarke couldn't let a claim like that go, and demanded that he braid Octavia's hair so she could judge his talents.

It only took him a few minutes to twist his sister's hair into a clean, classic French braid, but Clarke looked at him like he'd just solved world hunger.

He shrugged off her praising look. "We grew up with a single mom with two jobs and still struggled to get by. I had to pick up a lot of the slack in Octavia's care. It wasn't that hard to learn and the girlfriend I had at the time who taught me thought it was  _very_ sweet, so..." He broke off with an unrepentant grin.

But Clarke was still shaking her head in wonder. "You talk about it like it's no big deal, but I know a lot of older brothers who wouldn't have stepped up at all, let alone to that level."

He squirmed, relieved when she picked up on his discomfort and just nudged Octavia away from her place on the floor between his legs where he sat on couch. "Me next," she ordered, kneeling in place but sitting back on her heels.

Bellamy's hands tingled. He looked at the fall of her long blonde hair and the thought of having his fingers in it, that she  _wanted_ his hands in it, overwhelmed him. He became hyper-aware of her every sound, every movement, as he grabbed the brush and started gently working out any tangles. She sighed in contentment when he combed his fingers through a just-brushed spot, shivered when his hand slipped a bit against the back of her neck as he twisted pieces together, and finally hummed in satisfaction when he'd finished and she could run a hand over the finished product. 

"This is... so impressive, Bellamy," she said quietly. 

"Maybe you're just easily impressed, Clarke," he joked, squirming a bit in discomfort. He was probably a gross creep for getting turned on braiding his sister's friend's hair, but he couldn't bring himself to care about it at the moment. 

Until she turned towards him and he caught the quick flash of shock on her face in the darkness of the room. Panic creeped into his chest, but he managed to calmly quirk an eyebrow at her in question. She frowned a little, then shook her head. "You called me Clarke. You never call me Clarke," she pointed out.

He grinned at her a little, relieved as the panic settled. "Oh, I have, you were just too drunk to remember," he teased, thinking back to the night at the bar. 

"I wasn't drunk!" she said in exasperation. "Sure, I was over the legal limit for driving, but not black-out drunk. And I remember most of our conversation and I don't recall you calling me by name instead of that stupid nickname."

"Well, you're wrong," he managed mildly, a little stung at her calling his nickname stupid. "In fact, I think I even said it twice: once when you were telling me that you know how to cut up a guy's junk and once when I said I cared about you."

Clarke jolted up straight and glanced to the right. When Bellamy followed her gaze, he saw Octavia curled up asleep on floor, head pillowed on her folded arms. He turned back to see Clarke watching him. "Okay," she admitted quietly. "I apparently  _did_ drink enough to forget some things about that night. What was said?"

He strove for a careless shrug. "You were complaining about how hard everything is, then stopped yourself and said I probably didn't care about that, and I told you I cared about you." He gave in and fidgeted a bit as she continued to stare at him. "That's not news, is it?" he asked gruffly, frustrated with her silence.

She sat there for another long beat, before she leaned into him. Bellamy had a split-second of confusion before her lips were pressed to his and he hesitated until he felt her start to pull away. Leaning into her, he curled his hand around her neck, pressing forward, relieved when her lips began to move under his and they were back on the same page.

All sounds faded to the background except them. Her lips parted slightly beneath his and Bellamy took full advantage, tasting one and then the other, teasing her with his lips, his teeth, and finally the tip of his tongue. The needy noise she made in her throat sent a wave of lust through him and he dimly felt her hand come up to cup his jaw, holding him in place. 

She sealed her mouth over his with a growl, her tongue warm and wet against his, and Bellamy went up in flames, meeting her stroke for stroke, until he felt dizzy with the sensation. When she pulled away for a gulp of air, he groaned at the loss and moved to her chin, along her jaw, until he found the sweet spot just beneath her ear that made her all but purr. 

Her hands found the back of his head, fingers twisting in his hair, holding his lips to her, and it was Bellamy's turn to make a sound of contentment, nipping her gently with his teeth. When that provoked a little yank of his hair, Bellamy grinned against her skin and did it again.

"Bell," she sighed and he pulled back a little to look at her, overwhelmed and unable to believe that she was here, with him, in this moment. She met his gaze, her blue eyes nearly gone black, and Bellamy couldn't resist dropping a quick soft kiss to her parted lips. She turned her head and he tried not to read that as a rejection. He pulled back even further, until she had to drop her hands as well, so the only contact they had was his hand, which he slowly slid down from her neck to rest his grasp lightly around her wrist. 

"That was unexpected," he said, trying to get her to look at him again. "But not unwelcome."

She glanced at him, then turned to where he was holding her, so Bellamy looked, too, marveling at how dark his bronze hand looked against her pale white arm.

"Bellamy," she began softly and he braced himself for any possible outcome - _that was a mistake; it was a one-time thing; I just meant the kiss to be friendly and now you've made it weird; I thought we had chemistry but it turns out I was wrong_ \- but he was unprepared when she just shook her head and smiled softly at him. "Will you watch this movie with me?"

He managed a shocked nod and moved back further onto the couch as she pushed on his shoulders so she could sit between his legs, her back to his chest. She arranged his arms around her waist and leaned her head back against his chest and sighed in contentment. He stared down at the strands of hair he'd pulled free from her braid, then glanced over at the movie, which was clearly in its last 20 or 30 minutes. "What are you even watching?"

She yawned and snuggled a bit back further into him, pulling something up from between the cushions, which turned out to be a sketchpad with a pencil tucked through the spirals. " _10 Things I Hate About You_ ," she answered absently, flipping to a new sheet, her pencil quietly scratching the surface almost immediately. 

Bellamy paid more attention to the movie then, trying to understand its appeal, although he felt kind of lost, since he missed a good portion of the set-up. 

When it was over and all who had earned one got their happy ending, Bellamy turned back to Clarke, who had moved a little, enough so that she could see his face. She was still sketching in her book when he asked, "What are you drawing?"

She gave him a bashful look but then turned the pad and he was amazed to see his own face in amazing detail for such a short amount of time, down to the freckles across his cheekbones. The him in the drawing was clearly post-kiss, pupils blown wide, lips a little fuller, hair mussed, and Bellamy was overwhelmed that this was how she saw him.

"Clarke," he murmured, reaching for her, pulling her up and into his side, with her head resting on his chest. 

She brought her hand up to rest over his heart, one finger tracing patterns on his skin through his shirt. "I don't know what it means," he heard her say, "but it doesn't mean nothing."

Bellamy kissed the top of her head, running a hand over her back. "That's enough for now," he promised.

Which was the last thing he remembered until he woke up to see his sister standing over them, hands on her hips and wide grin clearly visibly in the morning light. "Well," she started brightly, "there's something I thought I'd never see."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

####  _track seven_

#####  _that girl thinks she’s the queen of the neighborhood/i got news for you, she is_

There was no marked difference in their interactions after that night. They didn't talk about it and, as far as Bellamy was aware, no one knew the details of what had happened.

They were friends.

Friends who had kissed.

Once.

So he endured the ribbing from O, and eventually Raven and the guys, about him falling asleep with Clarke, because that's all the group knew about.

He'd followed Clarke's lead when it came to dealing with Octavia the morning after and she'd just played it off as the two of them cuddling innocently and dozing off.

And Bellamy was fine with pretending that was all it was, because he at least knew the truth. 

The total, unbelievable, overwhelming truth was that something major had changed that night - not just between the two of them, but within himself.

For the first time in his life, Bellamy was falling in love. And it honestly scared the shit out of him.

In a way, he was relieved at the distance she put between the two of them; he didn't know how to hide the fact that he was freaking the fuck out. And yet, somehow, he'd made it through almost an entire week without anyone - not his sister, not his closest friends, not even Clarke herself - picking up on his panic.

It was a good thing he had to work tonight, he thought as he stepped out of his car and walked into the banquet hall the next Friday afternoon. A nice, long, tedious political fundraising dinner was exactly what he needed, mindless hours of passing out hors d'oeuvres and champagne to the city's elite. It would give him time to figure out where he wanted things to go and how exactly to get Clarke on the same page, whatever it ended up being.

As much as he needed distance, Bellamy couldn't help but be pleased that Clarke wouldn't be at his house that night for practice while he was out. They'd moved it up a day, with Raven juggling around her schedule working for a local auto shop, since Clarke had a dinner thing with her mother Friday.

He found himself smiling as he unpacked the carts full of catering supplies in the hall's kitchen just thinking about the previous night's practice. They'd played one of his favorite songs in their entire set, one where they alternated the verses - Clarke first while she pointed at Octavia, then Octavia who gestured to Raven, and finally Raven taking the last verse and pointing a drumstick Clarke's way until she needed both hands to go back into the chorus. It was a fun number that never failed to make Bellamy grin and hum it for hours.

He was humming it now, helping set up the food trays and grinned when Jasper joined in, quietly singing the words. Jasper had been banned from any practice where they performed that song, though, as he had a tendency to shout, "Now make out!" when the girls finished, which had not gone over well.

Bellamy heard him sigh wistfully and then wonder, "Do you think they make out when we're not around when they finish that song?"

Rolling his eyes, Bellamy scowled at Jasper. "Dude, one of those women that you're objectifying is my baby sister."

"Would it help," Jasper asked with a smirk, "if I limited it to just wanting Raven and Clarke to make out?" He full-out grinned then as Bellamy flicked him off and left the kitchen without another word.

A few hours later, the party was in full swing and Bellamy was bored out of his mind and no closer to an answer about the Clarke situation.

He picked up a new tray of champagne flutes and started his circuit around the room, smiling with charm at whoever was polite enough to look at his actual face. Some nights, when he needed diversion, he'd keep a tally of those people. The more prestigious the occasion, the lower that number tended to be. He was moving furniture to most of these people, which he'd had a chip on his shoulder about during the early years of his 20s. Now that he was staring 30 in the face and so close to his Master's degree he could taste it, it didn't matter as much. 

Jasper passed him with a tray of appetizers and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "Gold dress, blonde, just your type, on your six," and Bellamy wanted to tell him he wasn't interested, but it happened too fast. Jasper was gone in a blink.

So Bellamy decided to humor his friend, if only to be able to tell him he really wasn't interested (because how could some society princess ever match up to  _his_ princess?). And maybe it was a small experiment for himself, a test, to see what kind of reaction another woman would evoke in him after he'd been changed so fundamentally (or so it seemed). _  
_

Except when Bellamy turned around and moved forward to continue peddling his drinks, the crowd parted and he saw her, the woman in gold that Jasper said was just his type.

It was Clarke.

Clarke, with her hair up in a knot.

Clarke, clad in a gold cocktail dress, that hugged her curves and ended right above her knee, that left her collarbone exposed and drew his - and everyone's - eyes to her unbelievable cleavage.

Clarke, who had a  _dinner thing_  with her mom tonight.

Clarke, who described a campaign fundraiser for the mayor of the city as a  _dinner thing_. 

Who had been playing guitar barefoot in jeans and a hacked up black t-shirt just 24 hour ago.

Bellamy stood there, at a complete loss, trying to reconcile this new information, until a passerby grabbed a flute from his tray. Jarred, he glanced at the party-goer, then down at the tray, where one solitary glass remained.

With practiced ease, he slipped the smile back on and approached her, bringing the tray down to her eye level. "Champagne?" he offered quietly, bizarrely relieved when she turned out to be one of the rare few who made eye contact with service staff.

"Bell?" she sputtered, clutching the crystal flute to her chest.

He smiled a bit. "I guess I wasn't so far off with the whole 'princess' thing, huh?"

She wrinkled her nose at him, gaze rising immediately. "What did you do to your hair?"

"Gel. Enough to hopefully keep the curls tamed until the end of the night. Why? Looking for tips?" he asked with a smirk.

"I like the curls." She slid him a sly appraising look. "Between the gel, that tie, and your shirt all nicely tucked in, you look like you're just asking for someone to muss you up."

A lick of heat rolled down his spine and Bellamy strove to catch his breath at the intent in her eyes. Of all the times she could've initiated something, she had to do it while he was working? "Clarke," he warned, voice low, "behave."

He saw the glint of rebellion in her eyes as she opened her mouth, but luckily she was interrupted by someone calling her name. 

They both turned to find a young man, about Clarke's age, with dark skin and a slow smile, who walked up and immediately wrapped an arm around Clarke's shoulders. "My dad has someone he'd like you to meet," the man said, glancing questioningly in Bellamy's direction for a second. "Was there some problem with the champagne?"

"Wells," Clarke admonished, digging an elbow into his side, "don't be a snob. Bellamy's my friend who just happens to be working for the restaurant catering this event. Wells Jaha, Bellamy Blake."

Bellamy took the man's hand, but glanced at Clarke sharply. "Jaha?" he asked, looking up to her companion. "As in..."

"As in, my father is Mayor Thelonious Jaha, yes," Wells said, pulling his hand back. 

"And how do you two know each other?" Bellamy couldn't help but ask.

"Wells is my oldest friend." Clarke gazed up at Wells with a fond smile. "We grew up together, got into trouble together-"

"More like you  _got us_ in trouble," Wells corrected mildly, looking amused as he turned to Bellamy. "Don't let that innocent face fool you: she's a menace."

Bellamy wistfully thought back a few minutes to the trouble she'd been trying to start. "Don't I know it," he muttered, chuckling when she stuck her tongue at at him. "Very ladylike, princess."

She sniffed haughtily and looked at Wells. "All right, Wells, let's go meet the important dignitaries and let the servants get back to their work."

"Cute," Bellamy deadpanned, though he was fighting a smile, and turned to walk away to fetch a new tray of champagne, only to feel someone grab his wrist. He looked back to find it was Clarke holding him in place.

"What time is your break?" she asked in a low voice, stepping into his personal space enough that her perfume fogged up his head.

"Uh, 11:15," he managed, staring down into her porcelain face.

"Meet me outside the kitchen then," she commanded with a quirk of her eyebrow and then she was gone. 

Leaving Bellamy with hours to compile all the questions he was going to need to ask her about how exactly she'd come to be close friends with the mayor's son.


	2. side b

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thrilling conclusion that features: backstory! ~ heartbreak! ~ sibling bonding! ~ friendship! ~ reconciliation! ~ ~ ~ and of course... rock & roll!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys **SO MUCH** for your kudos, comments,  & bookmarks on part 1. I hope this lives up to your expectations. (And because I was already a day late and wanted to get this posted today, I barely read over the last few sections after writing them, so forgive any major errors, please.)
> 
> In case you didn't notice, the rating went up. I'm going to go ahead and assume that's not a problem for anyone...?
> 
> Also, I have posted the playlist that accompanies this work [here](http://8tracks.com/itsactuallycorrine/the-queen-of-rock-roll). (Please excuse the subpar photoshopping. It is _clearly_ not my forte.)

####  _track eight_

#####  _i will decide my life/i will decide this time_

With every minute closer to his break, Bellamy felt his heart pound that much harder, until it was beating like Raven's bass drum in his chest by the time 11:15 rolled around. He tried to keep his expectations low - he only had 20 minutes, there was no way she'd live up to the promise in her gaze before Wells Jaha had joined them. Maybe she wouldn't even be there; he hadn't seen her during dinner, although the dining room had been huge and nearly at full capacity. 

At 11:16, Jasper all but shoved him out the back door with a wink - Bellamy took a moment to yearn for Monty's pre-internship days when he'd been in the trenches with them, balancing Jasper out a bit.

He tried to ignore the sinking of his heart when she wasn't right outside the door, but then he heard it: that husky voice that had hooked him before he'd ever seen her face. Following the sound, he found her sitting on a bench in the small garden set off a little ways from the building. She had one earbud in, phone in hand, singing and swaying with the rhythm.

With a small chuckle, he walked up on her side into her line of vision, trying not to scare her, and settled down beside her as she stopped singing. She glanced at him, eyes soft and almost dewy in the moonlight, and wordlessly handed him the other earbud, which he dutifully took.

The song was a little slow, a little sad, different from what he normally associated with her. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as the song ended and gave her back the earbud. "Contender for the set list?"

She nodded. "I like to mix it up with some slower stuff. It's hard to keep up if everything's fast - my arms feel like noodles after an hour. We won't play it tomorrow, obviously," she said, and Bellamy remembered the audition Monty had landed them, which was the following afternoon.

"You nervous?" he asked with a smirk, bumping her shoulder with his.

She returned the gesture. "Not really. It's not like this is my livelihood. It's just for fun. If we get it, great. If not, well, we started the band just to hang out and play music." She made a face. "Now the MCATs - that's something to be nervous about."

"Am I ever going to get the full story about that, the medicine thing?" He turned fully in order to face her. "I just hear pieces of it whenever you three are fighting."

"Bellamy," she said on a sigh and her reluctance was written all over her face. 

He relented with a shrug. "Okay, fine, how about we start with Wells Jaha and you being here, at home among the hoi polloi?"

She laughed quietly. "You're such a nerd. Alright, fine, what do you want to know?"

"You guys ever date?" slipped out before he could even think about it and he winced, meeting her gaze with a sheepish grimace.

"You know, Octavia has said some things to me and I don't know if you really want to go down an avenue that ends with us exchanging information about past partners," she said, her tone even, but he could hear the steel beneath, a clear warning. 

 _Lesson one_ , he thought to himself,  _Clarke doesn't like possessive dudes._ He just cleared his throat and looked away. "Fair enough."

"But no." When he glanced back at her, she looked almost amused. "His dad and my parents always hoped it would happen, but he's too much like my brother."

"And now for the part where you explain how you all know each other."

"We grew up on the same street," she said simply, laughing at his frustrated groan. "Okay, okay. My mother comes from money -  _don't_ ," she warned just as he was about to triumphantly call her _princess_ , so he just settled for smirking instead. "When my grandfather passed away, he left his house to my mother, his only heir, and she and my dad were newlyweds at the time, so they moved in. They got to know Wells' parents and when Wells and I were both born within months of each other, they thought it was fate. 

"Growing up, he really was like my brother: we did everything together, joined at the hip. We even went to the same private school and Wells cried the first day of second grade when he found out we were in different classes." She grinned at the memory. "Don't ever tell him I told you that. My dad was already working under the city engineer, slowly working his way up the ranks."

"You never mention your dad," he said after she paused for a moment.

She smiled at him sadly. "He passed away when I was 16."

Bellamy, who had lost his own mother, his only parent, at 21, knew better than to apologize, so he nodded and ignored the gratitude in Clarke's expression. "So he was a city engineer?" he prompted.

"Yep, and he was the one who eventually talked Thelonious into running for office, because he hated the mayor at the time, Diana Sydney. He thought she was crooked."

"Good instinct," Bellamy muttered, thinking back a few years to the hiring scandal that had eventually landed their former mayor in a minimum-security prison.

She nodded. "He was the best," she murmured, more to herself, then seemed to snap out of it. "Anyway, my parents helped with his first campaign, and every one since. Next year is an election year, so here we all are."

"And your mom's a doctor, right?" he asked, more to keep the conversation going than anything.

"Chief of surgery at Ark Memorial."

Bellamy shook his head. "This just gets better and better,  _princess_."

She snorted at him. "Oh, please. That doesn't mean anything other than I'll probably be given an even harder time during my residency."

"So you're going to come back here for your residency?" he asked with studied casualness, as if he wasn't holding his breath waiting for her answer. Of fucking course it would be his luck to fall for someone who wasn't even planning on sticking around town.

"Probably," she said with a shrug. "I mean, my mom is here and it's really just us now."

"You guys close?"

"I think you missed your calling, Bellamy." Her voice was dry but she was smiling. "Obviously you should've gone into investigative journalism." She took his forearm in her hand and pushed at his sleeve to see the face of his watch. "What time do you have to get back?"

"I've got time," he promised, placing his free hand over hers. "A couple more minutes. You're avoiding the question."

"That's because it's a tough one," she groaned, slouching a bit, before she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders with determination. "Okay, I'll just say, we're closer right now than we've been since before my dad died. He was always the peacekeeper and warned us that we were too much alike. But it wasn't until he was gone that we realized what he meant. Between that and..."

"And?" He shook his arm where he still had her hand trapped against his sleeve.

"And, well, the first two years after his death, I blamed my mother for it - to the point where I was basically living at Wells' house and refused to speak with her and... did a lot of things I'm not proud of." She sent him a pleading look. "Don't ask me to elaborate."

He nodded slowly in understanding. "Anyone who's been through something like that," he started carefully, then shrugged. "Well, let's just say, I'm not proud of some of the things I did after my mom died, either."

"Right before I graduated high school, I got in some trouble and that's when my mom and I reconnected. You know, it's not a coincidence that I go to the state school that's practically in my backyard, especially when I could've - should have - gone Ivy League. A big part of it is I didn't want to lose my mom again."

"Is that why you want to be a doctor, too? To make it up to her?" When she just stared at him, face expressionless, he shrugged. "I'm not trying to piss you off. I'm just asking questions, getting to know you."

She held her silence for a long beat then sighed. "I know Raven and Octavia think that and they're not shy about saying I should give it all up to pursue my art, but... It's not just that, you know? I really do like helping people and my dad was always a big stickler about the privileged giving others a hand-up and how 'a life lived in service of others is a life well-lived'. And that means something to me. I'm not just a- a  _princess_ ," she all but spat.

"Hey," he said, moving his hand to her upper arm. "Anyone who gets to know you can see that."

"Art is such a gamble, anyway," she rationalized and Bellamy could tell this was a conversation she'd had many times - most likely with herself as well as with O and Raven. "So few people can make a living that way and I don't want to be a trust-fund brat. Plus it's more like a hobby. If I had to do it as a profession, I'd grow to hate it."

"Maybe. Or maybe you'd love it even more and become a huge success. Or," he continued, "you could love it and fail horribly."

She gave him a droll look. "You're such a comforting presence."

He ignored her. "At least you'd know and you wouldn't be thinking about it twenty, thirty years down the road wondering 'what if'. And med school will always be there. Don't let fear stop you. My mom had a saying, too, you know: 'fear is a demon'. You just have to tell yourself you're not afraid. It's the only way to slay the demon." 

She looked away for a long moment, finally turning back to him with a shuttered face and a quiet, "I think your break is over," before rising and walking back to her party.

Stomach swooping in dismay, Bellamy called her name. When she disappeared from view, he sat there and shut his eyes, whispering once to himself, "I'm not afraid."

But the anxiety didn't dissolve. He went back to work and couldn't help but wonder if he'd ruined everything.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

####  _track nine_

#####  _i’d do anything/so that nobody will like me_

The next morning (well, it was closer to mid-day, but 11 was still AM technically), after an uneasy night with little sleep, Bellamy was standing in his kitchen in his usual sleepwear, i.e. his boxers, glaring at the coffee pot in order to make it percolate faster, when Raven came walking through his front door. "What the hell?!" he demanded harshly. "Do you have a damn key?"

"Well, good morning to you, too, you fucking ray of sunshine," she spat out, clearly not in any better frame of mind than him.

"Octavia already left. What the hell are you even doing here?"

Her face was set in a scowl. "Audition, dumbass. I need to grab my kit. Octavia gave me _her_ key so I could come get it without bothering you. If that's okay with you, _Dictator Blake_."

"Whatever," Bellamy grunted, relieved when the coffee was finally done. A thought flashed across his mind and he cleared his throat as he carefully poured. "Did, uh, did anyone come to help you?" 

"Are you volunteering?" Her voice was mocking, but she shrugged it off. "Nah, I can handle this. Honestly, Octavia has it worse with trying to get Clarke's sorry ass out of bed. She bit me once, you know, for trying to wake her up."

A laugh rumbled out of him before he could stop it, which Raven answered with a glare. "Sorry," he said with a wave of his free hand. 

Raven smirked a bit. "No, it's alright, I guess in hindsight, it was kind of funny. Who would've guessed that the privileged society princess would be a  _biter_?" Bellamy felt something short-wire in his brain at the thought and apparently his expression was an open book if her disgusted, " _Ugh,_ " was any indication.

"Alright, perv, come back to earth."

He grinned over the rim of his coffee cup and quirked an unapologetic eyebrow. 

When she just rolled her eyes and moved towards the garage door, he asked, "Are you sure you can handle it yourself? I can throw on some clothes and help."

"I got this, but feel free to throw on some clothes anyway, unless this is how you spend all your time when Octavia's not home."

He dropped a hand to rub absently at his flat stomach and said with an exaggerated leer, "I'd hate to obstruct anyone's view."

She just snorted at him as she walked into the garage and slapped the button for the automatic door to open. 

A short while later, after some groaning and truly inventive cursing, she finally made it back into the house, flushed and a little sweaty from the work. "Mind if I grab a water?" she asked, hardly waiting for his assent before she charged into the kitchen, opening cupboards and the fridge like she owned the place.

"Hey, Raven..." he began slowly, an idea forming in his head. "Have you got time before you have to be at Clarke's?"

She glanced at the clock on the oven and shrugged. "Yeah, we're not planning on leaving until like three; I just didn't want to wait until the last minute to get here. Why? What's up?"

"Stay right here," he ordered instead, moving towards the hall. "I'm going to get dressed."

"Okay, weirdo," he heard her murmur mostly to herself.

When he came back out in board shorts and a polo, he found her kicked back on his couch, flipping through channels and sipping her water. "By all means, make yourself at home."

She grinned lazily at his sarcasm and shut the TV off, sitting up enough that he had room to sit on the other end of the couch. "If you're going to pump me for info about the dude Octavia's seeing, you can just-"

"No! No, that's not - wait, O's _dating_ someone?! Why hasn't she- Nope." He shook his head. "No, that's not it."

"Shit, okay, don't tell her I told you," she ordered with a grimace, then frowned. "So if it's not Octavia, what is it?"

He sighed. "So I might've done something bad last night..."

"At the political thing?" He nodded and she grinned at him, nudging his thigh with her foot. "How bad? Like shot-the-mayor-and-now-you-need-help-hiding-the-body bad? Because, dude, I don't think our friendship is there yet."

"Cute," he said. "No, like pissed-off-Clarke-about-med-school bad."

She made a dismissive sound in the back of her throat. "Is that all? I do that like once a week. Plus you piss her off all the time."

"I know, but it felt... different. Instead of getting all huffy and flushed, fighting back like normal, she shut down. Basically turned and walked away without even looking at me."

Raven winced in sympathy. "Oh, yeah, that's the worst. You'll have to deal with some of the Ice Princess after that." When he cocked his head at her, she explained, "She'll freeze you out for a few days - not ignoring you, not in anyway that's obvious. But you'll feel the chill, even when she's smiling at you." She shuddered. "It's actually a little creepy."

"But then she'll be fine?" Bellamy all but demanded. "Do I need to apologize or...?"

" _No_ , don't bring it up. At all," she emphasized, sitting up fully and dropping her feet to the floor. "It'll either start the fight again or she'll pull even further back. Just let her get over it in her own time."

He released a breath of frustration. "So she just, what, represses it and then moves on with her life until it all flares up again? That's healthy."

She shrugged. "It works for now and I get too freaked out by her pulling back to press the issue, so..." 

"This feelings stuff sucks," he said bluntly, earning a snigger from Raven.

"Yeah, it does." She nodded then nudged him in the ribs with a sharp elbow, making him jump and look at her. "Hey, so... wanna fuck?" She raised an eyebrow and smirked at him.

"Jesus, Raven! No! What the hell?!" Bellamy scrambled to his feet and stared down at her in dismay, but she just started laughing, falling over into the spot where he'd previously been.

"Oh, my God, your face!" she finally managed after a few solid minutes. "That was so good, I wish I'd recorded it."

"Ha, ha," he said dryly, offering a hand to help pull her up. 

She was still chuckling a little as she gained her feet. "Right answer, though," she commented as she started to walk away. "You passed the test."

He froze on the spot. "What test?"

"The one I do for anyone who sniffs around Clarke. I don't want her to ever get into another situation like what happened with Finn." 

"I'm not...  _sniffing_  around Clarke." She turned back to look at him with baleful eyes. "It's different," he said lamely.

"Sure it is," she humored him with a smile. "You still passed though, Blake, so good for you."

The way she said it made him wonder how many others had failed. For a moment, Bellamy felt a rush of affection for her, this girl who had also been hurt so badly by Finn's deception and yet she'd saved Clarke from those other situations.

He walked up and draped an arm over her shoulder. "You're a better person than you give yourself credit for, Raven. Let me make you lunch before you leave."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

####  _track ten_

#####  _though he loved her and she loved him/he couldn't get in, he couldn't get in_

For over a week, Clarke managed to avoid Bellamy. Her schedule had conveniently changed so that band practice was over by the time he got home from a shift at the restaurant. 

He managed to wrangle her number out of Raven, but she wouldn't answer his texts or calls either.

It got to the point where he stooped to doing something truly desperate: asking Octavia to intercede on his behalf. And that conversation had been... not fun, to say the least.

"Jesus, Bell!" she'd cried, throwing her hands in the air, pacing around their living room. "This is why I always kept my friends away from you. I just  _knew_ something like this would happen one day!"

"Hey, this is not my fault," he'd said, although shame was crawling through him, making him shift uneasily. 

"Oh, yeah, then tell me, big brother, whose fault is it? Clarke's, for being understandably upset that you probed into a sensitive topic? Mine, for introducing you guys in the first place? I can't believe out of all the girls you could choose to moon over, it had to be one of the best friends I've ever had. If you ruin my friendship, Bellamy Blake, you and I are gonna have problems."

Bellamy had ground his jaw. "It's not like I asked to feel like this, O! It - she - came out of nowhere and I was... I was  _blindsided_ and I'm making it up as I go, so excuse the fuck outta me if I... What?" he'd asked, finally noticing that his sister was standing there gaping.

"Holy shit," she'd whispered shakily, then looked up at him. "Holy holy holy shit, you're in love with her. Like for real, _in love_ with her."

"I'm... no, I'm no... What?!" 

She'd started grinning by that time, advancing on him slowly, while he took a step back with each of hers forward. "You, brother of mine, are in love with Clarke Griffin. And you are freaking out because you don't know what to do."

"Octavia," he'd pleaded as the back of his thighs hit the arm of the couch, then blew out a breath when he realized that his resistance was futile. "Alright, yes. Fine. I am, so I'm asking you for help, O. Because I can't do this without you."

"Of course you can't," she'd said with a confident smirk. "Okay, here's what we'll do..." 

Which is what led him here. Alone in his house with a very angry Clarke standing on his doorstep.

"They told me that we were practicing at 2, so I'm here at 2, and you're telling me that neither one of them is here." Clarke was speaking in a voice that was very rational. Calm. Placid even. And Bellamy might have been fooled, if that hadn't been the third time she'd made that statement.

"Uh, yeah," he said nervously, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I tried calling O, but it's going straight to voicemail. Raven, too." It was funny how both of them turning off their phones to see a movie could cause that.

She looked at him suspiciously then. "And you're normally not here at this time of the day."

"I worked the morning shift since I didn't have class." And he'd had to beg Jasper for a good hour to switch with him, too. "You're free to hang out here until either O or Raven calls one of us back," he offered as casually as possible (meaning it came out just this side of begging), waving her into the living room. "I haven't seen you since the fundraiser." 

Following him in, she lowered herself gently onto the edge of the couch, like she was afraid it was some kind of trap waiting to spring. "Yeah, my scheduled changed," she explained lamely, wincing before squaring her shoulders. "Bellamy, about that night-"

"It's okay," he said with a shrug, settling down on the coffee table to face her, letting his knee press up against hers. "I pushed, you reacted."

"Yeah, I did. Wait." She leaned back into the couch and shook her head. "Did you think I was going to apologize? Because I wasn't. I wasn't wrong."

He blinked at her. "Clarke, come on, we were both kind of in the wrong, don't you think? I mean, yeah, I should have just dropped it, but you - you just walked away. Without even a second glance. And then you avoided me for eight days!"

"Listen, Mr. Egomaniac, believe it or not, you are not the center of my universe. And if I had to change my schedule and had some things going on so I missed some calls and texts, that doesn't automatically mean that I was  _avoiding_ you, you narcissist."

"Okay, Princess," he said, lapsing into a patronizing tone that caused her eyes to flash silver in anger. "If that's what you have to tell yourself, I'll let you."

She groaned in frustration. "I guess it was too much to hope that you'd somehow  _not_ be an asshole about this, wasn't it? What is it, huh? What caused that fucking chip on your shoulder that makes you default into being so obnoxious?"

"Maybe we'll find out when we figure out why you always have to be the goddamn martyr," he shot back. "You literally have the entire world at your feet, every advantage any one person could ever need, and instead of grabbing on, you're pushing it away. For what? To make your dad proud? Do you think he'd be proud of you making yourself miserable?"

She stood then, kicking his feet out of her way, stumbling over them when he didn't move fast enough. He started to follow her to the door, nearly tripping when she stopped suddenly and turned back to him. "Don't you fucking mention my father," she hissed, jabbing him - hard - in the chest with one pointy finger. "Don't you ever."

And it was then that he saw the moisture in her eyes that she was desperately blinking back, saw her breath hitching in her throat. He crumbled, putting his arms around her and pulling her into his chest, as his anger turned to remorse in a single hitch of his heartbeat.

"Clarke," he murmured into her hair as she buried her face into his shoulder, her hot tears burning through his shirt. He felt clumsy and helpless and a host of other emotions that no other crying girl had ever elicited in him, not since Octavia was very young and he'd built up an immunity.

He pressed his lips to her temple, making soothing noises, stroking her shoulders, her arms, her back, anywhere his two hands could reach. When she started to quiet and pulled back a bit, he cupped her face in both hands and tilted it to his. "Okay?" he asked, his voice gone husky with her proximity.

Her eyes were still wet but had stopped welling, lashes dark and spiky, and she nodded, moving her hands up to his shoulders.

He returned her nod absently and used his thumbs to clear the tracks left on her cheeks, unable to stop his right one from resting momentarily on the dark beauty mark just above the corner of her lips. 

"Bellamy," she murmured, her own voice scratchy, her bottom lip a little swollen from her biting it.

"I got you, princess," he promised, letting his finger trace the bow of her upper lip, then down the slope to the corner again. He had to kiss that mark or he might go mad. "I got you." 

He lay his lips gently at the corner, just below the dark spot, making her inhale in one sharp gulp. He inched his lips up and finally met his goal, humming with pleasure when her hands gripped him tightly, fisting the material of his shirt. He made a brief, teasing touch with his tongue, wanting to smile when she moaned and turned her chin into his, moving his lips where she wanted them - onto her own.

Like the first time they'd kissed, Clarke took charge, moving her hand to cup his jaw, taking possession of his mouth, and Bellamy was more than willing to be taken. He groaned when she slid her fingers into his hair, using her grip to change the angle of their kiss, and it was like pouring gasoline on a match.

She pulled back, panting heavily, and pulled at the shoulder seam of his shirt, still clutched in her other fist. "Take this off," she ordered and he was happy to comply, skimming it up and over his head. She dropped both hands to his stomach, pressing her fingers into his skin, kneading his muscles with firm strokes. Her hands slid up his chest, palms skating over his nipples, making him shudder, before she pushed at his shoulders and looked at him and said the sweetest word in the English language: "Bedroom."

Taking her wrist gently in his hand, he led her down the hall and into his room, watching with joy as she pulled off her own shirt and moved to kneel on his unmade bed. He closed the door behind his back, never taking his eyes from her, as she slid the straps of her bra down her shoulders.

"Are you just gonna watch?" she asked in that sultry voice, lips turning up at the corners, and Bellamy shook his head and moved to join her, brushing her hands aside and taking over.

"Maybe some other time," he murmured against her ear, brushing the shell with his lips, delighting in her shiver. He pushed the straps further down, taking the cups with it, and leaned back for the full effect. "Clarke," he said on a soft groan, brushing one thumb along the outer curve of her bare breast, before cupping it in his palm. He moved his mouth to that spot, the one just below her ear, that elicited the softest, most content purr he'd ever heard. 

"Bellamy," she answered in kind, moving to cup his hand on her breast with her own. "Harder," she urged, moving his fingers under hers to her taut nipple and pinching it a bit. "I won't break."

It was all the prompting he needed as he laid her back onto his sheets and replaced their hands with his mouth, sucking strongly with just a tease of teeth, as she writhed beneath him, rocking her hips up into his stomach. He switched sides as she moved one hand underneath her back and finally released the clasp, pulling the bra free from between them.

"Jeans," she moaned as he softly bit at the fleshy curve of her breast, "take my jeans off, Bell."

He pivoted his head to rest against her so he could watch his own bronzed hand make the journey across her pale stomach to the clasp. He traced her belly button, glancing up with a smirk when she sucked her stomach in with a flinch. She was smiling back at him and raised an eyebrow as if she were daring him to test her ticklishness, but he was resolved not to get distracted. 

Gaze locked with hers, he let his fingers drift lower, past the fastening of her jeans and between her legs, curling his fingers up into her to watch as she bit her lip and arched her neck in pleasure. He rubbed along the seam, pressing it down into her, repeated the back and forth motion until her pupils were blown wide and she was rocking into his every touch.

Then he pulled back, chuckling at her needy whimper, and finally,  _finally_ , released the closures and helped as she wriggled out of the denim. She wasn't shy about grabbing his arm and moving his hand back between her legs and Bellamy surged up to seal his lips messily over hers as he slid a hand beneath the waistband of her panties and gave her what she was looking for.

Within a few quick strokes of his fingers, she was coming undone beneath him, groaning his name against his mouth, brow furrowed, and Bellamy had never seen anything so beautiful.

She came down quickly, moving her legs to the side of his hips and drawing him between the vee of her legs. "More," she whispered, moving her kiss along his jaw and down his throat to his shoulder, where she nipped at him playfully. "More."

He pulled back to sit on his heels, while she lay there, wrecked, looking at him with dark eyes, her mouth pink and swollen, hair all over his pillow, one hand absently cupping her own breast.

It was an image that Bellamy fervently hoped would eventually play out in his head during his last moments of life. He didn't know of very many that would top it. 

He shucked off his own remaining clothes in record time, then palmed her panties off, letting them fall to the floor at the foot of the bed, before he crawled back over her.

"Bellamy," she breathed, running her hand down his back to fleetingly touch his ass, then around to his hips, to his cock, before she wrapped her legs around him. "Now."

And he listened.

Later, they were laying side by side after finally catching their breath. Normally that would be the time that Bellamy would start not-so-subtly hinting that an exit would be preferred, but he didn't feel the urge laying next to Clarke. And he was strangely at peace about that.

He turned his head to look at her as she stared at the ceiling, hair clinging in dark, damp clumps to her temples, along her neck, and want curled low in his stomach again, just a touch, but enough that Bellamy knew it may never be sated.

Even with the stickiness of sweat drying along his skin and the summer heat thick in the room, he ached to curl his body around her, to pull her into his side and hold her. 

When he saw her lips dip into a frown, he wished he'd followed the impulse. "None of that," he said mildly, rolling onto his side and propping his head up to look at her. "Let's just enjoy the moment before everything else starts creeping back in."

She turned to meet his gaze, a tinge of sheepishness coloring her expression, before she smoothed it away. "But it will creep back in. This didn't solve anything, Bellamy. It probably just complicates it more."

"It doesn't have to." He let his other hand creep down to curl around hers where it lay by her side on the sheets, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles before weaving their fingers together. She looked at him skeptically. "Let's run best case scenario versus worst case. What would the best case scenario be?"

She blushed after a moment's thought and looked away, making him grin and move in closer, pulling their joined hands up to rest between their shoulders. "Don't be embarrassed," he said with a laugh. "Whatever you say, I won't be an ass about it or let it go to my head. Best case scenario?"

"I guess..." she started slowly, then looked back at him with a shy smile. "I guess that it would work and we would be together. I don't know about anything like marriage or kids, but we'd probably live together eventually, maybe get a dog. Travel a lot when you're out on break from your prestigious prep school teaching job."

He pulled her hand to his face and hid a smile against her knuckles, dropping a kiss there to distract her from his reaction. "That sounds pretty good," he said, voice a little shakier than he'd like. It was a kind of commitment he'd never even thought about, not in any serious terms, but he was struck now by  _how much_ he wanted it. With her. 

"But then worst case..." she began, pulling her hand free from his and sitting up, pulling the sheet over herself, and he kicked himself for starting with the best case, but sat up as well.

"Okay, worst case. Lay it on me."

"Things combust -  _badly_. We fight all the time and are miserable. Either I push you away or you leave, or you get frustrated that I'm not around enough because I'm busy with school or _something_ and we break up. Octavia takes your side, because you're her brother, so I lose not only you, but her, too." She smiled at him sadly. "Maybe we've even gone through all the best case stuff by that point, so we still have a dog, only now we have to worry, who gets him when we split up? And I probably let you take him, since I'm so busy at the office and it wouldn't be fair to him to be cooped up all day. So now I'm out you, Octavia, and our dog."

He stared at her for a minute before shaking his head in awe. "That's some imagination, princess."

She sighed wearily and moved to the edge of the bed, turning her back to him. "This... this was a mistake."

It felt like a sucker punch to the stomach and his mouth went dry. "What?!"

She was nodding to herself, not meeting his gaze, as she pulled her shirt back on. "I should go. This was a mistake." And she moved to stand.

"No!" Bellamy said, reaching for her arm, stung when she pulled just short of his reach. "It's not. Don't go, Clarke."

She stepped into her panties, then her jeans and slowly pulled them on, avoiding his gaze. "You know, part of the reason I was so mad that night at the fundraiser was because when you brought up my mom, I thought..." She paused, clearly gathering her thoughts while he gaped at her, taken completely off-guard by her change in topic. Then she shook her head. "I thought if there was anyone who would understand duty and responsibility, it'd be you. But you're just like Raven and Octavia: you don't get it. And I don't think I could move past that and try to start something with you when you don't."

"Clarke." He moved across the bed cautiously, afraid of spooking her. "I do, I do get it. And I also have the benefit of coming out on the other side of that kind of situation, so this is coming from experience. Living your life for someone else, for responsibility? It sucks. And that's why I'm telling you this, because I care about you, Clarke, you know that. Don't do this. Don't shut me out."

"Listen, it's a lot easier to talk about overcoming fear of failure when you know the world's always going to need history teachers, so don't act like you know what this would mean to me."

He stood and jerked his own jeans on in quick, frustrated movements. "You think I don't understand fear of failure? You don't think it takes guts to be here with you right now and have this conversation, knowing it'll probably ruin everything? I don't even know how the hell we got back on this topic!" He stepped up to hold her arms, looking down into her averted face. "I want to be with you, Clarke. I want to try for that best case scenario. But I don't want to see you throw your life away on a career that you hate."

"Bellamy, don't make this something it's not." She finally turned to him, her smile quaking at the very edges. "We have clearly have chemistry and you're a good friend, but we're not... We just have very different outlooks, I guess."

"What the fuck does that even mean?! There's something here and it's real." She looked away again and Bellamy felt his temper flare. "Or are you gonna let fear stop you here too?" he asked snidely, gratified when she inhaled sharply. 

"Go fuck yourself," she said breathlessly, pulling away from him with a jerk, and he laughed, a bitter rumble that felt as sharp in his throat as it sounded.

"Maybe once I've recovered a bit from you." He regretted it as soon as it was out of his mouth, letting his eyes dropped closed for just a second, before he heard the knob of the door turn. He was following behind her immediately. "Clarke, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

She grabbed her shoes in her hand and turned just enough to say over her shoulder, "I think it would be better if we just pretend this never happened," before she walked out the front door, leaving Bellamy standing there with his heart shattering at his feet.

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

####  _track eleven_

#####  _my heart is stone/it's hard and it's cold/better leave me alone/no love in me_

When Octavia and Raven came in laughing later that night, Bellamy was going about his normal routine - grading some papers for Monday's Western Civilizations class and nursing a beer while some old 90s sitcom played in the background. After Clarke had left, he'd allowed himself an hour to wallow and he'd held himself to it.

He hoped that the dull ache in his chest would quickly manifest itself into anger - anger he could handle, he was good at anger. He wasn't good at being hurt.

So if the smile he greeted the two girls with was a little feeble, well... he was only human. "Hey."

"Hey, big brother," Octavia all but sang, coming over to wrap her arms around his neck from behind the couch. "Guess what? We got the gig we auditioned for!"

"That's awesome, O." And this time, his smile felt more genuine as she released him and clambered over the back of the couch to sit next to him. "When is it again?"

"Next weekend," Raven answered from her perch on the opposite arm of the couch, shrugging. "It's some small bar I've never heard of, but Monty already said that you'd all come to show your support."

"We will," he promised, then turned back to the paper he'd been reading. "Have you guys already called Clarke?" 

"She didn't pick up. I left her a voicemail," Octavia said, laying her head against his arm. "I'm guessing the plan backfired?"

He just hummed in agreement, sighing as Octavia kissed his cheek in apology and went out to the garage with Raven in tow.

Once they were gone, he pushed the stack of papers away and leaned his head back, staring blindly at the ceiling, wondering what the hell he was going to do now. 

The answer wasn't any clearer the next morning when he was woken up by the discordant tuning of guitars echoing throughout his house. The near-midday sunlight streaming in through his windows made him scowl darkly and throw his arms over his face, before reluctantly climbing out of bed and pulling on a shirt and whatever shorts were handy.

He grumbled all the way into the kitchen before pounding on the connecting door to the garage. "Some warning would have been nice!" he shouted over the commotion, acknowledging Octavia's, " _Sorry, Bell!_ " with a grunt before starting the coffee.

Which someone else  _could_ have done, he thought sourly, especially if they were going to wake him up on a Sunday morning.

Running a hand over his hair and down his face, he tried to ignore the sounds from the garage - voices especially - when the music suddenly stopped and he could hear Raven clearly arguing something.

"-- too esoteric for the casual barfly," she was saying, but Clarke butted in over her.

"It's a good song and we play it well. The audience doesn't need to know it to appreciate it. Look, we'll put it near the end of the set. Anyone who's stayed that long is not going to be put off by a song they don't know. Then we'll close with a crowd-pleaser and that's what a lot of them will remember." 

"Clarke," he heard his sister say, her voice quieter, calmer, and barely audible through the door, "are you sure there's no ulterior motive here?"

"No!" Clarke answered - unconvincing even to him - and then she groaned in frustration. "Let's just play it through without vocals a few times to warm up and then we can decide, all right?"

The other two must've agreed, because the guitars started up again, followed closely by Raven going nuts on her drums. 

Bellamy winced at the sudden onslaught of noise and escaped to his bedroom, taking the papers he still hadn't finished with him and closing the door, which at least muted the sound so it wasn't pounding through his skull.

After about an hour of start-and-stop, he heard Clarke's voice start to sing over the top and ground his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the paper in his hand. 

Until, that was, they reached the chorus and the sounds of Octavia singing, " _I don't love you, I don't love you_ ," filtered down the hallway, while Clarke's voice overlapped it with, " _I don't know why, you even bother, hanging around, when I don't want you. Don't know why, because of me, can't you see, I don't love you_."

In a way it was almost a relief, the anger flooding his system, because it took the pain and gave it purpose, molded it into something blunt and brutal that battered against his rib cage. 

He shoved the papers to the side and scanned his bedroom until he found what he'd been looking for, grabbing it victoriously and walking towards the garage, resolve firming with every new line that she sang. 

Throwing open the door, he met her gaze as she and Octavia sang the final, " _I don't love you, I don't love you._ " 

He could see Raven and Octavia throwing each other nervous glances out of the corner of his eye as the echo died out and a tension-filled silence filled the space. 

Leaning against the doorjamb, he smirked slowly. "If you wanted my attention, princess, all you had to do was ask."

She scoffed at him and looked away to lift her guitar off and settle it into its case, but he could see the pink tint to her cheeks. "And there he is, ladies, the man with the fifty-foot ego, who assumes we all exist to orbit his giant head."

"Bell," Octavia said, a warning clear in her voice, but he didn't spare her a glance.

"No, please, Clarke, tell me again how deluded I am. I'd have to be, right, to think that after what happened yesterday, you coming into my home singing  _that_ song has anything to do with me?"

Raven muttered, "What _did_ happen yesterday?" to Octavia, who just shook her head in confusion.

Clarke was glaring at him. "You know, if you really cared as much as you said you did, you wouldn't be this much of an asshole."

He dropped the smirk as his heart began to race in his chest and he felt like he was all but vibrating with anger. "If I cared?  _If I cared_?! Are you fucking kidding me, Clarke?! Everything that's happening right now is on you, princess. I wasn't the one who called it a mistake. I wasn't the one who wasn't even willing to try. And I wasn't the one who walked out instead of standing and fighting. _You did_."

"Take the fucking hint, Bellamy!" she shouted at him. "Whatever you think is happening here, you're wrong."

He stared at her hard, studying her face for any hint that she was lying, but her expression was inscrutable, her eyes flinty, and he wondered for the first time if he was wrong. "Just keep telling yourself that," he said tiredly and turned to go. He couldn't resist one last jab, though, and turned back and produced the object he'd taken from his room: her white bra, which he dangled from his finger. "Oh, yeah, you forgot this yesterday."

He heard Raven suck in a breath so sharply she coughed as Octavia said his name in a scandalized tone. 

And he finally saw Clarke crack, just the tiniest bit, as she flinched, before she stomped up and grabbed the offending garment from his hand and threw it into her bag, all without looking at him. 

She turned away and said harshly, "Are we going to practice or what?" before picking up her guitar again.

Bellamy stepped back and slammed the door, grabbing his keys off the table and high-tailing it out of there before they could start playing that damn song again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

####  _track twelve_

#####  _there's more to this than just a kiss/but a partner in crime_

For the better part of the following week, Bellamy made himself scarce whenever he knew the girls were there. He shut down Octavia, Monty, and Miller whenever any of them tried to bring up Clarke's name. He left Raven's texts unanswered. He dreaded Friday, knowing that he'd have to show up at the bar to support O and see  _her_ there.

He wanted nothing more than to wipe the last few months out of his mind and go back to his peaceful existence before he even knew about the band or Clarke. 

Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost was a goddamn liar, because Bellamy would take blissful ignorance over this gaping hole in his chest any day.

So it was with extreme displeasure that he noticed Raven and Clarke's cars still in front of his house when he got home late Thursday and he contemplated turning around and getting a drink instead.

But that wasn't him.  _He_ wasn't the scared one. It was his damn house and he had a right to be there. If she didn't like it,  _she_ could leave.

And he should've noticed that it was too quiet, that they obviously weren't practicing. He should have noticed the twitch of the curtain in the living room window.

He might have been able to protect himself from what happened next.

As soon as he walked through the door, two sets of hands were on his back, pushing him forward, across the living room and into the kitchen, through the open garage door, which promptly slammed shut behind him.

He turned and tried the knob, cursing when he found it locked from inside the house. "Fucking hell, Octavia! Unlock this right now!" he yelled, pounding on the wood with the side of his fist. 

"It's no use," he heard from behind him and spun to see Clarke standing there, arms wrapped around herself. "They won't listen. I've been in here for a good hour."

He ignored her and turned back to the door, eyes alighting on the button for the automatic door. He hit it hard, satisfied when the motor started to whir and the door raised, until it suddenly stopped, then reversed.

Clarke snorted. "Yeah, I tried that, too. They've got Octavia's car remote out there."

He spared her a glance, then eyed the door, wondering how much damage it'd do to kick it down, trying to remember how much he had in savings and wondering how much a door even costs, before he sighed and turned to her. "All right, let's just get this over with, because they're not going to stop unless we do. And I can't go around replacing every door in my house."

"Was that really your plan?" she asked instead. "Knocking the door down?"

He didn't want to be amused at her incredulity, but felt the corner of his mouth tick up anyway. "You'd be surprised the lengths I'd be willing to go to to avoid talking about feelings."

She looked down at her feet, but he could see the small smile she was fighting, before she looked up at him with a weary exhale. "Bellamy..." she started, shaking her head sadly at him. "I don't want everything to be all complicated like this. It was the one thing I wanted to avoid."

He nodded, crossing his own arms and leaning back against the door. "I don't either. You know what I want, I haven't been shy about it." He waited patiently for her to look at him before he continued, "If you aren't on the same page, then I'll back off. Just... be honest with me. I can handle it."

"I don't know what I want!" she cried out, dropping her arms to her side. "That's always been the problem. It's the problem with school and now it's the problem here. I feel like there's no right answer to anything."

"There isn't," he affirmed, stepping forward when she glared at him. "Hear me out. If you're looking for black and white, good and bad, in making these decisions, that's half of the problem. There isn't a choice that you can make - in anything - that's going to be all right or all wrong. Every choice will have its cons along with the pros. That's why you have to pick the one that means the most to you and then fight like hell to make sure the pros outweigh the cons. It's all effort."

She stared at him for a long silent moment then blinked and it was like something lit up within her as she smiled at him. "Standing and fighting," she murmured, and Bellamy distantly recalled saying something like that to her the last time he'd seen her.

He exhaled shakily and smirked at her, stepping closer to her. "I know it's a new concept for a princess raised in the lap of luxury, but," he broke off with a laugh when she punched his arm, then turned serious again, cradling her hands in his own. "So, Clarke, what's important enough that you're going to stand and fight for it?"

"Raven and Octavia," she said at once and Bellamy all but melted at how fierce she looked in regards to his sister. 

"Good," he managed gruffly, clearing his throat. "And?"

"My art." She looked almost shocked at how easily that came out of her mouth, but she firmed her mouth and nodded resolutely. " _And_ med school." Bellamy arched an eyebrow at her in surprise, but she shrugged. "It really wasn't just for my mom and, yeah, there are times where it's overwhelming, but I... I want to try. I don't want to regret it," she said with an arch look at him.

He winced a bit, remembering his past words to her, but shook it off and ran his hands up her arms. "Anything else?" he asked, hiding his nerves by focusing on the feel of her lean muscles beneath his hands.

"You," she said softly, smiling as he jerked his gaze to her face. "But I might need some help with that. If you're willing to fight _with_ me."

"Princess," he drawled, cupping one hand around her neck, "if there's one thing you should know about me by now, it's that I am always willing to fight with you."

And he muffled her laughter as he met her mouth with his own. 

Far too soon, she pulled back to look at him. "And just so you know, I might've been avoiding your calls and texts, but my schedule really did change. I signed up for a six-week summer art course at the park district."

He hummed in contemplation then smirked at her. "But the song - that was  _definitely_ about me, right?" then laughed as she groaned and pulled him back in for another kiss.

Dimly he heard some movement but didn't place the sound as a door being opened until he heard Octavia saying, "You guys are way too quiet; you didn't kill each other, did- _Ooooh_."

And he would've kept on kissing Clarke, but apparently she was not quite the exhibitionist he was, since she pulled back again (and he would swear until his dying day that the sound he made was not a whimper.) "No, no," she answered quickly, her face gone completely red. "We're both still alive."

"And dressed," Raven said with exaggerated disappointment. "We always miss the exciting stuff."

"Raven!" Clarke hissed as Octavia gagged dramatically. 

Bellamy groaned and wrapped his arms around Clarke's midsection. "Princess, I love you, but we have to talk about these friends of yours that keep hanging around." And he grinned down at her only to see her gaping at him. "What?"

"And that's our cue," he heard his sister say while the sound of Raven protesting grew fainter as she was obviously dragged away.

"You love me?" 

He replayed his words in his head and grimaced a bit, but nodded. "Yeah." He scanned her face, unable to read it. "Is it too much, too fast?"

All at once, she looked overwhelmed, but she shook her head and pressed her face to his chest. "No," she breathed against him. "It's just a little scary. Isn't it?"

"It's fucking terrifying," he said bluntly, relieved when she chuckled. "But in a good way."

"In a good way," she echoed, nodding against him. "I don't know that I'm all the way there yet, but I do know I'm falling, so hang on to me, okay?"

"Anything for you." He rested his chin on her temple and pulled her flush against him. "I'm not going anywhere."

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

####  _track thirteen_

#####  _don’t lie to me/never say goodbye to me/i don’t want to be here alone_

Octavia had been a wreck all day in the hours leading up to the band's first gig, so it was ironic that now that they were in the bar setting up, that she was calm while Clarke was pacing and Raven was snapping at everyone.

"Okay," Clarke said as she walked back over to him, fingers absently tracing the chords on her unplugged guitar, "tell me again."

"This is just for fun," he began obediently, as he'd done every other time she'd asked. "Your life does not hang in the balance if this doesn't go well. You guys are ready for this. If no one else applauds, you'll still have the four of us going nuts in the audience."

Octavia cleared her throat gingerly. "Five."

Bellamy frowned at her. "Me, Jas, Monty, and Miller. That's four."

She shrugged, the jerky movement the only thing speaking to her nerves. "I invited this guy I've been seeing - Lincoln - to come so he, uh, he should be here, too. So... five."

"Six," Raven reluctantly admitted, scowling when they all turned on her. "What?!"

Clarke smiled at her. "You invited the TA?"

She nodded. "But don't make a big deal out of it. It doesn't mean anything."

"Maybe we should have gone with Jasper's idea of making _'we're with the band'_ t-shirts. Sound like we could've turned a profit," Bellamy joked, grunting when Clarke elbowed him in the stomach.  _  
_

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Behave."

"Fine," he sighed, then smirked at Raven. "Am I just supposed to call him the TA or does he have a name? Most of us do, you know."

"Wick," she answered, then preemptively, "No, I don't know yet if that's his first or last name. We haven't gotten that far." Octavia looked liked she desperately wanted to comment, her eyes shining in amusement, and Raven pantomimed throwing her drumstick at her. "Shut up!"

The bar owner walked up to talk to the girls and Bellamy excused himself with a squeeze of Clarke's elbow and moved to stake a claim on one of the tall pub tables set up on the perimeter of a tiny dance floor.

It wasn't long before the other guys filed in, Jasper dropping into the chair beside him to allow Monty and Miller to sit together opposite them. "Bellamy, how excited are you?" Jasper crowed, grabbing Bellamy's upper arm with both hands and shaking it. Before he could answer, though, Jasper continued, "Because I am pretty excited. It's all I've been talking about all day, isn't it, Monty?"

"All. Day," Monty confirmed, his dry tone telling Bellamy all he needed to know, before he leaned forward in concern. "How are they?"

Bellamy smiled a little. "A little nervous, but they'll be fine. I guess O and Raven both invited dates."

Jasper and Monty  _ooh_ 'ed over that while Miller just watched Bellamy carefully, leading the latter to defensively ask, "What?!"

Miller shook his head. "You're awfully calm about Octavia's date for a guy that I have helped literally duct tape a dude to a tree just for kissing her."

Jasper looked at Bellamy suspiciously. "Yeah, you're much calmer in general than the last time I saw you. Did something happen with Clarke that we don't know about?"

"We, uh, we worked things out," he said, trying gainfully not to smirk and failing. Monty and Jasper  _ooh_ 'ed again and Bellamy took it all in stride. "Yeah, yeah, get it all out."

"No, really, that's great, man." Monty grinned sincerely then leaned into Miller with a dramatic sniffle. "Our little baby's all grown up and saving China. Don't," Monty warned Jasper, who he knew would seize the opportunity to rephrase that with a word rhyming with "China".

Jasper pouted for a moment then grinned when the waitress brought their drinks over. "See this guy?" he asked her, pointing a thumb Bellamy's way. "His girlfriend is in the band that's playing here tonight." When she just smiled in confusion, Jasper leaned forward and said confidentially, "They're  _very_ serious. But I am single, in case you were wondering."

"Oh, yeah?" The waitress nodded back at Jasper, then pointed to her left hand. "And I'm married. Now that we cleared all that up..." and with a roll of her eyes, she walked away, leaving Bellamy and the other two guys to laugh at Jasper's rejection.

"You earned that," Miller told Jasper with a smirk, toasting him with his beer.

Before Jasper could respond, the owner stepped up to the microphone and called everyone's attention and welcomed them. "And it's my pleasure to introduce in their debut performance, The Kat Stratfords!"

There was a polite round of applause throughout the bar that was promptly drowned out by Bellamy's table clapping and hollering for them. Bellamy caught sight of a tall guy leaning back against the bar, yelling something like, "Yeah, Reyes!" over the crowd, which identified him as the TA. 

A piercing wolf whistle came from the other side and Bellamy turned to see a big, muscular, heavily tattooed guy with a shaved head. Of course that was O's guy, he thought with a frown, then turned back as Clarke stepped up the to mic.

"Just in case you guys can't tell where our friends and family are," she said with a wry smile, locking eyes with Bellamy for a split-second and grinning more sincerely. Then she turned to Octavia and Raven and launched into the first song.

And it caught him off-guard, because the first song of the set happened to be the very first song he'd ever heard her play. They hadn't told him their set list, not wanting to ruin the suspense, O had explained. 

Right now Bellamy was glad, because he could just lean back and watch Clarke and remember the day he'd stood in his driveway and started falling for this amazing, complicated woman.

The girls nailed it, with only a few technical glitches, but what Bellamy found the most intriguing was the songs they chose to play. Each and every one had sentimental value and reminded him of his journey with Clarke, every step that had led them to this point. 

Halfway in, he caught her gaze and raised an eyebrow in question, smiling when she bit her lip and nodded at him.

It was incredibly humbling, this secret display of affection, making his heart feel too big for his chest. And any anxiety he may have been harboring over the fact that Clarke wasn't quite there with him fell away, because he knew she'd get there.

By the time their set was nearly at an end, the entire place was applauding them just as fervently as Bellamy and his friends. 

When Clarke struck up the beginning chords to another song on her guitar, Bellamy put two fingers to his lips and whistled loud in appreciation. It was one of his favorite performances, not only because he loved the way that Octavia and Clarke's voices opposed each other and melded together, but because of the great guitar break in the middle of the song. 

And more importantly, what Clarke  _looked like_ whilst performing said guitar break.

He saw her face pinken under the stage lights and he grinned wolfishly when she peeked up at him through her lashes. But as coy as that might seem, he could see the satisfied smile on her lips and knew she was loving the power she had over him.

At the chorus, she looked up, pushing a wave of golden hair behind her shoulder while O took over guitar, and sang straight at him and he was helpless to do anything but sit there and marvel at her.

He was vaguely aware of Jasper leaning forward and murmuring in his ear, "Jesus, keep it in your pants; you're in public!" but he really didn't care who was watching at that moment. 

And then it came, the glorious moment where the song broke off and she started with a few discordant notes that had people in the bar shifting a little uneasily. When they realized this was part of the song, as the solo got more harmonious, it seemed like a breath of relief went around.

Bellamy couldn't care less - he was glued to the way that Clarke's bare arms flexed under the lights, to how she rocked her torso slightly over her guitar, then harder and harder as she continued, her long hair falling back over her shoulder, to the pleased smile on her face when Octavia joined in first with the melody, then Raven with the rhythm. 

He vaguely heard Octavia start to sing again, but his gaze remained on Clarke as one thought looped through his mind on end:

_If she'll have me, I'm going to spend the rest of my life with this woman._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

####  _track fourteen_

#####  _stone age love and strange sounds too/come on baby let me get to you_

The buzzing of the alarm woke Clarke early - too early after how late their post-gig celebratory dinner went on, not to mention her and Bell's own  _private_ celebration afterwards. But no matter how much she fumbled for the right button, it persisted.

Bellamy groaned behind her, rolling to bury his face between her shoulder blades. "Make it stop," he pleaded pitifully and Clarke almost wanted to smile, despite how much she agreed with the sentiment. 

Finally she got it to be quiet and settled back into his hold around her waist, laughing a bit as he immediately drifted back into a soft snore.

She ran a hand down the line of his strong arm and buried her face in the pillow, unable (and unwilling) to stop the contented sigh that poured out of her. 

Two days ago, she thought she'd ruined any chance to be here like this, with him. She should've known not to underestimate Bellamy's capacity for love and forgiveness. After all, she'd seen herself how open he was, how much he cared for Octavia and his friends, and eventually her and Raven. 

It was overwhelming, sometimes, that great big heart of his, but Clarke would work every day to make sure that she deserved the second chance he;d given her.

When it became apparent that she wouldn't be falling back asleep, Clarke gently extracted herself from his hold and grabbed his discarded t-shirt from last night off the floor, pulling it over head. She sat down next to his hips, facing him and reaching for the sketchpad that she kept on her vanity bench.

Sketching lightly, she let her eyes caress those sharp cheekbones with the boyish freckles, the dark curls of his hair all over her pillow, that full mouth that drove her to distraction.

He was different in his sleep, less intense with his eyes closed. Sometimes she swore that she would spontaneously combust just through the pure force of his gaze alone. Those dark eyes watching her, every time she turned around, sometimes mocking, sometimes soft, varying from unsettling to comforting. 

Her sketchpad was full of studies of his eyes - the drawing moving from innocent artistic inspiration to vain attempts to exorcise him from her system.

Not that it ever helped, but she felt compelled nonetheless.

Now, though, she had him sated and vulnerable and unlike any other time she'd ever drawn him, and she wanted to take advantage of it.

She'd just started on detailing the interesting muscles of his lower abdomen when she noticed him stir, his hand sweep across the empty spot where she'd been previously. "Clarke?" he called, voice gravelly with sleep, and she didn't think twice before abandoning her sketch and moving back into his arms.

"I'm right here," she soothed, moving into his arms with her nose pressed against his bare chest. He blinked down at her, then pressed a kiss onto the top of her head.

"Just making sure," he said on a quiet sigh, tightening his hold around her back. "You're chilled." His hand started rubbing along her spine, bringing out goosebumps that had her shivering against him.

She hummed in agreement and cuddled further into him. "But you're nice and warm warm, so we can balance each other out."

She felt his smile against her hair. "Our specialty." He pulled back to look down at her face, then glanced to her abandoned sketchpad and back. "Were you drawing me?" he asked with a sly smirk.

"Yes," she said honestly. "I do that a lot. Is it a problem?"

"No problem, princess. Just let me know if you ever want me to pose for you."

She grinned up at him. "You say that now, but we'll see if your tune changes when you're sitting in the same position for hours while I do an oil painting."

He grimaced quickly but still nodded at her. "Whatever you want."

Pulling back even further from him, she propped herself on an elbow as he rolled on his back, stretching deliciously before her, his muscles playing in the light and making her mouth water. But she didn't let it distract her. "You really mean that, don't you?" she asked in wonder.

"Of course."

It bubbled up out of her so fast, almost unconsciously: "I love you, Bellamy."

He tensed, then turned to her with a soft smile. "Just because I'd let you paint me?"

She moved up to prop herself on his chest, straddling his waist. "Not just because of that," she answered, shaking her head, brushing his lips with her own. "But because of the way you love me, because of how you treat me. I never stood a chance, did I?"

The skin beneath his freckles turned red, but he grinned at her, moving his hands to her hips. "No more of a chance than I had, the first time I heard you sing."

She raised an eyebrow at him as he shifted restlessly beneath her. "You are so easy," she teased, rocking back into him, delighting in his low groan and the involuntary snap of his hips against hers. "Does it really just take the  _thought_ of me singing to turn you on?!"

"What can I say?" He cupped a hand behind her head to kiss her thoroughly for a hot minute, before pulling back, "I'm a man of simple pleasures."

"That's what I've been saying to the others for months," she began, grinning against his jaw, "'that Bellamy, he's simple'." She shrieked when he suddenly flipped them so she was on her back beneath him, then moaned as one of his hands slid down her stomach. 

"Let's see you crack some jokes now," he growled against her mouth, but Clarke was too busy sucking a mark into his throat.

She idly wondered what kind of dog Bellamy wanted, then all thought left her mind.

 

**_~ fin ~_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you or a loved one has interest in feminist punk rock, talk to your Netflix about the documentary _The Punk Singer_ , the story of Kathleen Hanna, lead singer of Bikini Kill [track 7] and Le Tigre and one of the co-founders of the riot grrrl movement.
> 
> Side effects may include: white-hot rage at the patriarchy, the urge to go hug all girls and tell them how great they are, and a need to GET. SHIT. DONE.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to come talk to me on [tumblr](http://itsactuallycorrine.tumblr.com)


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